A Whole New World: Draconian
by AKxx
Summary: In a world ruled by a new Dark Lord, the Order of the Phoenix fights to tear down the evil that plagues the earth. A difficult task when two of their own are in love with the men they once knew; the men who now control the world. [SEQUEL TO A WHOLE NEW WORLD]
1. Chapter 1

A Whole New World: Draconian Chapter 1

* * *

 ** _Sequel to 'A Whole New World'!_**

* * *

Since the Hogwarts Battle, three years ago, Octavia would be lucky to call somewhere her home. At present, she resided in an abandoned abbey in the English countryside, but it was temporary. It always was. She, and the rest of the Order, travelled from place to place, unable to stay for longer than a few months at a time, never settling, always fighting, always scared. At least, Octavia was always scared. Scared that they would lose, and the world would fall at Harry Potter's feet. Scared that Draco would find her and do Merlin knows what with her. He wasn't the boy she had once known and loved; he was a man now, and a powerful one at that. Cruelty and evil were just two of the words attached to his name. But mystery surrounded him.

Despite having captured several prisoners over the years, the Order of the Phoenix were unable to increase their knowledge as to Draco's position within Lord Potter's ranks. Their information was scarce, but they knew enough; Draco was feared by his own people, and highly respected. The prisoners never talked about him, as though they were far too terrified to do so. Octavia never talked about him either, but not out of fear; out of heartache. The years hadn't soothed her broken heart in the slightest, and she was constantly consumed in a blanket of misery. Especially when she thought about him and their time together.

A boy, no longer, but a man she did not know.

Draco hunted her to this day. That much was clear by the very little that the prisoners spoke until torture. On the odd occasions that they were found and attacked by Snatchers, Octavia was never harmed. They merely attempted to restrain her, bringing her as little pain as possible. It had to be due to Draco's orders, for the Snatchers showed no hesitation in harming others. How they loved to harm people.

Octavia felt somewhat to blame for the injuries and deaths that surrounded her. She felt responsible for the death of Seamus Finnegan, who had tried to remove her restraints in the chaos of the latest attack. Seamus and Octavia hadn't been close over the years, but he had an opening to help her, and that he did. But the moment that he released her from the ropes that had bound her, he had paid for his assistance in blood. He was just one of the many that Octavia felt responsible for. Responsible for their premature deaths.

No one else seemed to blame her, though. They welcomed her into their ranks, despite who loved her, and who she loved in return. Well, she loved the boy she knew, not the man who struck fear into those who followed him. He struck fear into her as well, truth be told. But she tried not to think about that.

She tried not to think of what the world had become under the rule of Harry. Or, 'Lord Potter', as some called him these days. She was not one of them. He would always be 'Harry' to her, even though he was no longer the boy she had shared a friendship with.

Harry had taken Voldemort's dormant place as dictator of the wizarding world. According to the prophecy – that they still didn't fully understand – Harry was part of the Dark Lord that had once lived and died. He embodied a piece of the defeated monster in his soul, and took his place on the throne. His 'birth right', as some would say. Just like the Dark Lord before him, Harry was a half-blood, but unlike Voldemort, Harry embraced his dual heritage. His rule and authority was not one of racism, where muggle-borns and half-bloods were to be eradicated. It was about magic and power. The weaker magical folk – like Octavia, for example – were the scum in his world order. The inferior, who were to be little more than slaves or corpses if Harry had his way.

But he wouldn't have his way if the Order had anything to say about it. They would fight until the very end to defeat the rogue saviour. The boy who had defeated the Dark Lord, only to take his place at the throne.

At present, Octavia occupied the dining room with Pansy and Hermione, the three of them standing in a circle, their hands connected. Pansy was attempting – for the countless time – to harness their magic through the physical contact, concentrating on her Sight. It was what had kept them alive over the years, and massively assisted their mission. Due to Pansy's sight, the Order of the Phoenix still existed, resisting the authority of Lord Potter and his minions. With Pansy's sight, they were able to foresee attacks on occasion, but it wasn't consistent. It didn't always work.

The art of divination was not dependable. It wasn't the math of transfiguration, nor the science of potions. But it was an advantage, and they would use it as best they could. Especially since they no longer had Sybil Trelawney in their ranks to dissect the prophecy, Merlin rest her soul. They had to make do with Pansy and her unrefined gift.

"I'm sorry," Pansy sighed heavily, dropping her hands to her sides. "I can't see anything."

Hermione pressed her lips together in mild disappointment, though they had expected such an outcome. Pansy's gift didn't come on command, but whenever it chose to do so itself. Mostly, that happened to be whilst she slept, likely due to the fact that her mind was clear in those moments of rest.

Hermione sighed and walked over to the kettle, switching it on to employ the pretence that she was doing fine. She wasn't, though, and Octavia knew that. Hermione wasn't fine; how could she be when her best friend and lover, Ron, was out on a high-risk mission?

Ron, Sirius, Remus and Neville had taken the guise of three recently captured Death Eaters in the dungeons, by use of poly-juice potion two days ago. With the disguises, they had ventured out to the rubble that was left of Hogwarts. The castle was under constant surveillance by lower-ranking Death Eaters, but no one inhabited it, for there was nothing left to inhabit. Only wreckage and debris remained of the magical school that had served as the home to so many over centuries. But in that wreckage and debris was something they needed. At least, Pansy's sight claimed that they required it.

The Gryffindor Sword had been amongst the wreckage, according to Pansy's sight, and they needed it. For what? They weren't sure. But they set a mission to four worthy Gryffindors to retrieve it regardless. Hermione had only stayed behind – despite her incessant refusal – due to her injured shoulder. A splinching accident that had caused a chunk of her skin to be gouged out during apparation. She was still recovering from the incident that occurred on a grocery-trip one week ago, and was denied permission to join the Hogwarts operation as a result.

Since Dumbledore had fallen at the hands of Harry and Draco during the Hogwarts Battle, a select few had taken his place as their unofficial leaders. The surviving members of the original Order were in charge; Sirius, Remus, Mad-Eye Moody, and Molly and Arthur Weasley. Despite the group of authority predominantly consisting of men, Molly was undoubtedly the most influential voice.

Octavia was yanked from her thoughts as the door to the dining room swung open, revealing Sirius and Ron entering, blood and dirt smeared over their robes. But they had returned, and that's all that mattered.

"What happened?" Hermione gasped, forgetting the kettle and rushing over to Ron, checking for any signs of injury.

"We got ambushed," Rob grumbled, but allowed Hermione to fuss over him. "There were more of them that we thought. It's not our blood, so don't worry."

"That's not possible," Pansy shook her head, Octavia perching herself on the kitchen counter. "I saw it very clearly; a total of eight guards set up around the perimeter."

Sirius seated himself at the dining table, reclining in exhaustion and heaving a heavy sigh.

"We don't know why, but there was at least a dozen of them." Sirius said, exertion evident in his weary tone.

"You retreated then, yeah?" Octavia asked, swinging her legs leisurely as she sat on the kitchen counter. There was no panic or worry in her tone, for there was no reason to be concerned; if anyone had died in the mission, they would know it by now.

"No," Ron said. "They barely even noticed us. When we were leaving, though, more of them arrived and … well, things went sour."

"How sour?" Pansy asked, pouring the two men a hot cup of coffee each.

Supplies were low for the Order members, and rations had been assigned, but they were evidently in dire need of the bitter brew, so Pansy dismissed the rules momentarily.

"Pretty sour," Ron said, dropping into the seat beside Sirius. "Neville broke his arm, but Pomfrey is seeing to him now, so he'll be alright."

"Did you get it?" Hermione asked urgently. "Did you get the sword?"

"We did," Sirius nodded. "And something else, potentially equal in value."

Hermione waited for him to enlighten them, but Sirius paused and shared a look with Ron before the two men glanced at Octavia.

"What?" O frowned, her gaze darting between the two. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"We captured someone," Sirius said after a moment, his tone hesitant. "He's in the dungeons."

"Who?" Pansy whispered, Octavia already suspecting the identity of the prisoner.

Her suspicions were confirmed, her heart plunging down to the twisting and churning pit of her stomach.

"We captured Draco Malfoy."

* * *

Absolute chaos surrounded her. The long dining table was at full capacity with shouting Order members, others leaning against the wall and offering their input as aggressively as those at the table. Everyone and their familiars seemed to have an opinion. No one was heard though, for the insane shouting match drowned out all voices of reason. Octavia didn't shout. She didn't speak or participate. She just sat there, hands folded in her lap, hazel eyes glassy, vacantly gazing at the decaying table in front of her.

Her mind was a blank buzz of nothingness. No thoughts penetrated the abyss in her head, for she was simply in a state of shock. How could she not be? The man she loved and hated, adored and feared, was in the very same building as she. The man she hadn't seen in three years was within reach, and she had no desire whatsoever to go to him. Perhaps that was merely due to the fact that she was unable to desire anything in that moment, for her mind was nothing but white noise and static. Not even the heated exchange of voices and opinions around her penetrated the nothingness of her mind.

"How could you do this?" Molly screeched accusingly at Ron. "How could bring him here?"

"We need him!" Sirius declared, slamming his hand on the table impatiently. "He has information that the Order requires to succeed, Molly!"

"He's a cold-bloodied killer!" Hermione shouted. "He possesses no value to us, and is better off dead!"

"Now he knows where we are, you irrational child!" Molly bellowed at the red-faced Ron. "Now he knows where _she_ is!"

Still in a trance of shock, Octavia continued to gaze blankly at the table, unaware that Molly had pointed right in her direction, and now all eyes were on her. Some eyes shone with pity, others were calculating, evaluating the risk posed to her by Draco's presence in the abbey. Octavia didn't realise any of this, for the table held her complete numb focus.

"You brought him right to the only thing he wants!" Molly continued, Ron having the decency to look ashamed. "Whatever happens from this foolishness, I promise you Ronald Weasley, it will not be in our favour, nor _hers!_ "

Still, people were looking at her, and still, Octavia did not notice. She noticed nothing. For she felt, saw and heard nothing.

"Listen," Sirius demanded sternly. "Malfoy is a valuable prisoner to have for many reasons, Molly, whether or not you wish to acknowledge them. His high-rank in the Death Eater hierarchy means that he will be in possession of knowledge that could give us the upper hand. Not only that, his close relationship with Harry" – Sirius grimaced at the name of his godson, as he did each time he spoke or heard it – "ensures that he is privy to information that we need."

"Assuming that he cracks under interrogation," Molly spat. "But we all know that he won't. The only thing you've done by bringing that man into our home is endangering us all, and that poor girl."

Again, everyone glanced at Octavia, but she remained still and vacant. Blank. Barely existing. Nothing more than a shell of a person.

"Molly," Remus reasoned. "I do share your concerns, but you have to understand Sirius's motives. While he and your son acted on impulse, we can use this to our advantage."

"How did you catch him?" Pansy piped up, derailing the entire conversation.

It was a question that no one had asked, but most pondered internally. An important question. For Draco Malfoy was a powerful wizard, adept in the darkest uses of magic. So how Ron, Neville, Sirius, and Remus were able to capture the dark wizard, whilst being outnumbered, was quite the mystery.

If Octavia wasn't so numb and void of awareness in that moment, she would have undoubtedly perched herself on the edge of her seat in anticipation of the response.

"Everything was fine," Sirius said. "We got the sword, and none of the guards paid any attention to us. When we reached the edge of the Dark Forest to apparate, Zabini shouted out to us."

"He was calling out Blackthorn's name," Ron interjected. "The prisoner I changed into with the poly-juice potion."

"Ron stopped and I stayed with him," Sirius continued. "But Remus and Neville kept going; in case we were attacked, we had to make sure Neville came back here with the sword."

"Before we could reach the apparation point," Remus added, "Malfoy and Nott came out of the forest."

"We were attacked from both sides," Sirius explained. "They must have known that we were going to be there, or had already realised that our prisoners had disappeared from their duties. Zabini was closing in on us, but we were pretty far into the grounds so most of their curses missed. Nott managed to get the sword from Neville, that's how he broke his arm, but Remus took him out."

"Took him out?" Pansy whispered, horror shining in her eyes. "You mean … you killed him?"

"It was him or Neville," Remus said admittedly. "I had no choice."

Pansy swallowed thickly, her eyes prickling with tears that she should never shed for a Death Eater. But it wasn't so black and white. Nothing ever was. For Theodore had been her friend since her early childhood, long before Hogwarts. She mourned for her friend, not the Death Eater he had become.

"Neville disarmed Malfoy," Remus continued. "He surrendered."

"Ron knocked him out, and we apparated out of there before Zabini and the others could catch up to us," Sirius finished.

"What if he surrendered to get to her?" Molly suggested, her tone dangerous.

"No," Ron scoffed. "He's a Slytherin, mum. He acted purely out of self-preservation. Four on one aren't the best odds, even for him."

"He could have stalled until Zabini reached you lot," Arthur countered sternly. "But he just surrendered?"

"Yeah, maybe he could have stalled us," Ron shrugged. "But he would have died trying, and he knew that."

"None of this matters," Mad-Eye snapped. "What matters is that we have a dangerous prisoner in the dungeons, and we need to agree on the best course of action. I vote we kill him."

A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the occupants of the dining room, some nodding, whilst others shook their heads. Some didn't respond at all, seemingly still deciding.

"All those in favour of killing prisoner Draco Malfoy," Mad-Eye gruffed, raising his hand.

Scattered arms raised around the room, a dozen Order members supporting Moody's suggestion. But it wasn't enough, for sixteen people kept their hands down, voting against the option.

"That's settled," Remus said, glancing around the room. "We'll post a guard at the dungeon door for our protection, and alternate shifts between us. Interrogations on the prisoner will commence tomorrow."

"Don't you mean 'torture'?" Octavia croaked, speaking for the first time since the news of Draco's capture had reached her.

Everyone snapped their stares to her instantly, some filled with pity, others obviously uncomfortable, and a few filled with outrage.

"It's nothing he hasn't done to countless people," Ron spat, Octavia perfectly motionless as she gazed at the table.

"It doesn't make it right," Pansy whispered. "Do as your enemy does, and you are no better than who you fight against."

"Spare us your fanciful philosophies," Moody bit. "This is war, and we need to win."

"You've never voiced any concerns regarding our methods before," Sirius said, assessing Pansy coolly. "Maybe this is too personal for you, so I'm ordering that neither yourself or Octavia will be allowed access to the dungeons."

Pansy's expression of outrage was obvious, but she didn't respond. She bit her tongue and turned her gaze to the blonde seated across from her.

Octavia kept her head bowed, her body still, her hazel eyes gazing at the table. Tight curls curtained down the right side of her face, her cheeks hollow and face gaunt. The weight loss from years on the run whilst fighting a war was evident in her face alone. But the same could be said for every person seated at that table, so no one made a fuss over it. Pansy only noticed it, however, as it appeared to add to her miserable expression.

Slowly, Octavia placed her hands on the edge of the table and rose from her seat. The sound of the wooden chair scraping on the harsh ground caught everyone's attention instantly. They watched in silence and pity as she exited the dining room without a word, a miserable aura surrounding her.

Only Pansy seemed to notice the slight burn on the table where Octavia's hands had been a moment before. Pushing herself from the table, Pansy excused herself and quickly went after her friend. She didn't have to search the abbey for Octavia, for she had an educated guess as to where she would have gone.

From the singed wood of the table, Pansy knew that Octavia had experienced a rush of fire through her body, likely due to the overwhelming circumstances. Octavia had developed a ritual of sorts in dealing with the surging fire that dared to escape her over the years.

As predicted, Pansy quickly found Octavia in the bathroom on the third floor, by the sink.

Octavia stood in front of the sink, water pouring out of the rusted old tap and down onto her hands. Her hands faced upwards, water dousing the stubborn flames that danced on her palms, the groaning of the pipes drowning out the sound of Pansy's arrival.

"You should tell someone about this," Pansy said, announcing her arrival.

Octavia didn't flinch at the sound of her voice, keeping her head bowed as she watched the water attempt to fight the flames on her hands.

"It's getting harder to control," Pansy continued, stepping toward her silent friend. "I know you don't want to, but I think you should talk to Hermione about the fire."

Pansy could have sworn that Octavia shook her head, but the movement was so slight that she couldn't be sure.

"I don't need anyone thinking I'm some kind of freak," Octavia croaked feebly.

"You're not a freak," Pansy frowned, approaching her by the sink.

"Yeah, 'cause normal witches and wizards just have fire bursting from their hands all the time," Octavia mumbled, turning off the taps with her soaked hands.

"It's going to be ok," Pansy hushed, standing beside her friend, gazing at her in the reflection of the mirror. "I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but it will be."

"How can you say that?" Octavia whispered, her voicing cracking as tears welled up in her eyes. "How can you lie like that?"

"Because it helps me believe it," Pansy muttered after a moment.

Octavia scoffed, raising her head, meeting Pansy's gaze in the mirror. And then it happened. The moment that Pansy had been waiting for with emotional dread.

The moment that Octavia broke down.

Her face scrunched up in absolute anguish, a wretched sob ripping through her pink lips as she dropped to her knees in total defeat. Pansy wasted not a second before joining her agonised friend on the ground, wrapping her arms around her shaking body as her sobs swiftly turned into screams.

Pansy just held her. She held her in her arms as Octavia screamed at the top of her lungs, her head thrown back as she released everything she had ever felt in her entire twenty years of life. Everything could be heard in that gut-wrenching, blood-curling scream. Everything from the love she felt for Draco, to the fear, the heartbreak, the affection, the betrayal, the horror. Every little thing that Octavia had ever felt tore through the bathroom, scraped off the walls, rang through the abbey. If the dungeons hadn't been silenced, Draco likely would have heard the horrendous defeated screams of the one he had destroyed.

Blue in the face, Octavia kept screaming, on and on, not stopping, not even when her lungs constricted, begging for air. She continued, pouring her heart and soul into the wretched noise, only stopping when she was on the brink of unconsciousness. A lengthy and gravelly gasp tore through her shaking body as Pansy held her, a silence between them before she burst into a fit of sobs.

"It never gets easier," Pansy whispered, holding her sob-wracked body in her arms. "Knowing what they've become, but still loving them."

"I do- don- don't!" Octavia blubbered through her sobs, lying horribly. "I d-on't lo-ve hi- him!"

But she knew that she did. She knew it in her broken heart and shattered soul.

What did that make her? What kind of person could love a man like that? A man who violated her trust and took advantage of her love. A man who helped destroy the world, and saw to it personally that she was a broken pathetic excuse for a person.

A man she loved to her core, dreamt of every night, yearned for every minute, and most of all, despised with every fibre of her being.

It made her a monster.


	2. Chapter 2

If it wasn't all so entirely frustrating, it would have been tedious. For the umpteenth time over three years, members of the Order who were without missions sat in the drawing room. Two cloudy glass balls sat in the centre of the table, with a handful of people seated around them. The balls were not objects used to clear and channel visions of the future, but balls that held the two prophecies.

The first prophecy had been conjured by Sybil Trelawney decades ago, at the time of Voldemort's reign. It was the very reason the Seer had been hired by Dumbledore, so as to keep her close, as well as her visions. It detailed the fall of the first Dark Lord at the hands of a baby.

The second prophecy was much less detailed and jarred, only fractured pieces of images swarming in the ball. It was everything that Pansy had seen, taken from her mind and locked in the ball. The challenging part of deciphering and understanding the prophecy was not due to its shattered state, but due to its incompletion.

Hermione tapped the tip of her wand on the second ball, Pansy's eerie voice echoing around the room hauntingly.

 _'On the night of the full moon, the world will be theirs. Come with it, blood and death, heart-break and misery, destruction and order. Born of soul and born of blood, the two will take their rightful place. The darkness behind the masks will be revealed. Two halves of a whole will make power and evil from death and murder.'_

Octavia slumped in chair, frustration and boredom gnawing at her emotionally dazed mind as she listened to the words that had no effect on her anymore. The same words were spoken every night in the bedroom she shared with Pansy, and she listened to them almost twice weekly. They certainly lacked the punch of fear and dread that they had once possessed.

 _'All who oppose will fall, but one can reclaim the world as it should be. The broken will rise, defeating the evil that plagues the world. Flames will rise, ashes left in its wake, for the light to penetrate the darkness.'_

Sirius drummed his fingers on the table top, reclining lazily in his chair, an expression of pure concentration on his face. Octavia almost scoffed. It almost seemed like he hoped to solve the puzzle that was the prophecy if he concentrated hard enough. Such a fool. They had listened and listened and analysed and dissected for years, and came no closer to realisation or discovery.

 _'The end of the Dark Lord, and the beginning left behind. Two can fall to the ones they destroyed, but the destroyed can fall to the two that conquer. Darkness may prevail, light may die.'_

The images swarmed in the ball, even after the eerie voice died down, having nothing more to say. Two cloaked figures swayed in the darkness that lashed around them fiercely, blood pooling at their feet, snakes slithering all around them. And then the ball turned cloudy once more, no more prophecy left to speak or display.

No one spoke, for everything that could be said had already been voiced many times over the years. The two that ruled; Voldemort and Harry, combined as one. Power and evil born from death and murder; the night that Harry declared war on Hogwarts. So much innocent blood had been shed that night of a full moon, and with it came Harry's transition.

Octavia had informed the Order of the conversation she had overhead those many years ago on that fateful night.

 _"Let's move," the bored drawl ordered. "Draco will have retrieved the diadem by now."_

 _"Already?" The gruff man spoke._

 _"I guess time really does fly when you're having fun," a woman laughed madly,_

 _"I'd advise that you drop the habit of calling him by his name," another scolded._

 _"He's my son, I will call him what I want." The familiar drawl responded coldly, Octavia's eyes widening as she realised that it belonged to Lucius Malfoy._

 _"Technically, he isn't," a woman countered. "And after the ritual is complete, I'd be surprised if he didn't decorate the walls with your intestines if he heard you speak his name."_

The diadem and the ritual. It was all very mysterious, even after all this time and research, but it was obvious that the ritual was the final step in Harry's transition into darkness. No one knew how a diadem could change Harry in such a way, but was it really change? He had attacked Hogwarts, killed Dumbledore and many innocents, all before the ritual that he required to come into his full power. He was evidently capable of brutal and cruel acts before the ritual had taken place.

But hope remained. Perhaps that is why the Order of the Phoenix continued to fight. For the incomplete prophecy provided that glimmer of hope.

 _'All who oppose will fall, but one can reclaim the world as it should be. The broken will rise, defeating the evil that plagues the world.'_

The hope was there. The Order can reclaim the world, rise up and defeat the evil. Defeat the Death Eaters. Defeat Lord Potter. They had a chance, and that is why they continued to fight, continued to run and hide, waiting for the opportune moments to strike. There was a chance, and that is all they needed to continue in the war that they were losing.

If Pansy was just able to finish the prophecy, they might know what to do next. But they didn't. At present, they were in possession of various prisoners and the Gryffindor Sword. Nothing else, and they had no idea what the Sword was to be used for.

They were blind. The entire Order was blind. They fought at every turn, without knowing what would come next, without a battle plan or a strategy to win. Their only strategy was to keep on fighting and wait for Pansy's prophecy to be complete.

It would have been easier, some believed, if Sybil Trelawney was still with them. Alas, she had vanished in the Hogwarts battle, presumably captured by the enemy. It was a dangerous prospect, indeed. For if Harry had the Seer, he possibly had the same knowledge that Order had via Pansy. But, of course, that all depended on how weak Sybil became under torture. Octavia believed that the woman would have cracked quickly. There was no judgement in that belief, however. For Octavia knew that she would crumble under torture, for she too, was weak.

The door to the drawing room creaked open, shattering the heavy pensive silence that blanketed those at the table. Octavia looked up from the prophecies, her complexion paling and eyes filling with horror at what she saw. Even Molly gasped at the sight.

Ron stood in the doorway, covered in blood, his face etched with exertion as his gaze swiftly sought out Sirius's. Their stares met quickly, Ron shaking his head, causing Sirius to heave a weary sigh.

Bile creeped up in her throat, Octavia shutting her eyes tightly as realisation struck her. The blood was undoubtedly Draco's, and Ron's silent gesture indicated that the prisoner was not talking under 'interrogation'.

While Octavia managed to supress the bile and urge to vomit, she wasn't able to resist the tears that welled up in her anguished hazel eyes. Of course, Octavia had known that they would torture him for information, but it felt as though the reality had only just sunk in. Her mind was suddenly bombarded with gruesome images of Draco chained to the damp mossy walls in the dungeons, his robes torn and blood smeared over his handsome features.

"He won't talk," Sirius grumbled, stating what they already knew.

"He did." Ron countered, everyone's eyes snapping to him instantly. "He won't answer my questions or give up any information, but he did speak."

"What did he say?" Sirius asked.

"He is demanding," Ron enunciated, "that he only speak to her."

Ron gave a pointed look at the sheet-white Octavia.

"That is out of the question!" Molly snapped sternly.

Sirius regarded Octavia silently, evidently considering the prisoner's demands. But he didn't ask her, nor did anyone. They seemed to make her decision for her, as they usually did.

"What did you tell him?" Sirius asked, finally tearing his gaze away from a teary Octavia.

"I told him that we weren't foolish enough to allow her to remain at the premises with him here," Ron shrugged. "Don't think he believed me, though."

After a moment of pensive silence, Sirius spoke. "Keep it up. Make him believe that she's not here, and that we don't know of her whereabouts. His attention needs to be focused on the information we need, not Octavia."

Ron nodded, his gaze darting to Octavia as she pushed herself from the table abruptly. Octavia swallowed thickly, tears streaming down her pale face as she stormed out of the drawing room, pushing rudely by Ron on her way out.

* * *

Octavia didn't bother drying her soaked curls after her extraordinarily long and therapeutic shower. Instead, she wrung out her tresses on the tacky carpet of the bedroom she shared with Pansy before changing into her pyjamas. The winter months that froze nature outside caused an icy chill to penetrate the walls of the abbey, so her nightwear consisted of many layers, oversized lumpy jumpers and sweatpants.

Slipping her feet into men's woollen socks, Octavia stood at the edge of the bunkbeds, mentally calling dibs on the top bunk. It was normally Pansy's bed, the top one, but Octavia wanted it that night and felt entitled in a sense. The further away from the ground she was, the further away from reality she felt.

Before she could move to climb up the rusted ladder, Pansy entered the bedroom, presumably to retrieve towels for her nightly shower. Since the age of eleven, Octavia and Pansy had shared a bedroom, whether it was at Hogwarts in their dormitory, or over the years in hiding. So Octavia knew Pansy's daily ritual to the exact detail, for there was no privacy between them anymore.

"Hey," Pansy greeted softly.

Octavia looked over her shoulder at the brunette, her hazel eyes bloodshot and dazed as though she had just woken up from a deep sleep. It was quite the opposite, however. Octavia hadn't slept more than a few hours here and there since Draco had been captured as their prisoner two days ago. It didn't seem like a long time to go without sleep, but when your body was undernourished, mind frazzled, heart destroyed, it was an eternity.

Pansy saw the defeat in her hazel eyes, once sparkling and captivating, now dim and full of anguish, the surrounding skin tinged with a grey shade. Cheeks that were once smooth and rosy were now gaunt and hollow, lips no longer plump and pink, but cracked and pale. To anyone that didn't know Octavia, she would be as beautiful as ever, but those who did know her saw it. They saw the change in her appearance and spirit. They no longer saw the beauty she once was.

"Pomfrey told me to give this to you," Pansy said as she approached the beds.

Octavia didn't speak, just watching her friend near, as though she was in a trance. Perhaps she was. A trance of misery.

A small vial was offered to Octavia as Pansy raised her hand, palm facing upwards.

"She said it'll help you sleep," the tired brunette said, eying the sleeping draught with mild envy.

Octavia nodded and took the vial with lazy movements, fumbling with the cork for a moment before successfully removing it. Before she could bring it to her lips, Pansy placed her hand on hers. Octavia knew what she was going to say instantly. She had been waiting for it with never-ending bouts of dread.

"Have you gone to see him?" Pansy whispered, slowly removing her hand from O's.

"No," Octavia croaked. "We're not allowed, remember?"

"I think Sirius is going to ask you to," Pansy sighed regretfully. "He wants information, and you're his best chance at getting it."

"I don't want to see him," Octavia lied unconvincingly.

Pansy nodded slightly, her gaze fixed on the clutter of blemishes on Octavia's chin. The lack of nutrition combined with the latest stress had definitely taken its toll on the blonde. Even her curls seemed lifeless and flat these days.

"I admire you," Pansy whispered. "If it was Harry in the dungeons, I'd like to think I wouldn't go to him, but … I don't know if I'm strong enough to abstain."

Gazing vacantly at the bottom bunk, Octavia nodded marginally in response, her brows furrowing slightly. It was taking every ounce of strength within her to stay away from the dungeons. She wanted to barge down there and beat the crap out of Draco. She wanted to crumble before him and beg for him to change, to go back to who he was before. She wanted to slap, kick, and punch him, all the while, sob and ask him why he had done the things he had done. In truth, Octavia suspected that the only thing keeping her from doing all those things, was the guard stationed at the front of the dungeon doors.

Octavia brought the rim of the vial to her lips, gulping the contents down until there was nothing left. Tossing the empty vial onto the bedside table, Octavia presumptuously scaled up the rusted ladder to the top bunk, but Pansy didn't object. She only watched Octavia climb into the lumpy bed and cover herself with the scratchy blankets.

The effects of the sleeping draught worked quickly, calming her distressed, yet numb mind, while soothing her aching heart. Octavia fleetingly made a mental note to request more the following night from the stern Healer, but her mind had gone blank before she could fully formulate the thought.

In a matter of seconds, Octavia was out cold, dead to the world. But it wasn't a tranquil escape from her horrid reality. For her dreams had only taken her to the painful memories of the past.

*.*.*.*.*

 _Draco grabbed her waist and shifted her to straddle his lap, her face instantly nuzzling into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her securely against him as she suddenly began to sob. He hushed her softly as she cried into his chest, her body shaking with the force of the strange sobs. The sobs themselves weren't strange, but neither really knew why she was crying in the first place._

 _"_ _You don't need to be afraid, Octavia." Draco assured softly. "I'll never let anyone or anything harm you. Do you trust me?"_

 _Her response was a hum, nod and sob. He rested his forehead atop her curls, holding her tightly in his arms._

 _"_ _As long as you're with me, nothing will ever happen to you," Draco said softly. "I'll always do right by you, and ensure that you're safe. You have nothing to fear, O."_

 _Octavia nodded against his chest, seeking and finding reassurance in his comfort. His words soothed her, his embrace lulled her sobs into nothing but occasional hiccups and snivels._

 _His love for her and her trust for him calmed her entirely._

* * *

Pansy had warned her about this, but Octavia had barely registered the warning, let alone paid any mind to it. But here she was, in the kitchen, bombarded and coaxed. Octavia suspected that Sirius and Ron had waited until Hermione and Molly departed the abbey on a grocery run. Her suspicions would be correct, for without Hermione and Molly, Octavia was much easier to persuade. It wasn't that she was weak without them, but that her fragile state was easier to coax without two people defending her fiercely.

Did Octavia really need defending though? Probably. For in that very moment, Ron and Sirius were attempting to convince her to visit Draco in the dungeons.

"He'll only talk to you," Ron pleaded, not speaking to her in his usual tone of disdain. "It's been a week, and the only thing I can get out of him is your name."

"I understand you're scared and don't want to see him after what he's done to you," Sirius soothed, much calmer than the impatiently stressed Ron. "But this seems to be the only way that we can use him."

"You mean use _me_ , right?" Octavia spat, arms folded over her chest as she scowled.

"You have value in this respect," Sirius said. "You pull your weight around here, I'm not disputing that, but this is different. This is far more important than grocery runs and cleaning. This can give us information that may leverage the war in our favour. To beat them, we have to know everything."

"I don't want to see him," Octavia sniffed, lying through her teeth.

"I don't want to torture people," Ron opposed. "But I do it because it helps us."

Octavia almost rolled her eyes at the lying red-head. While he wasn't fond of his own methods, she had no doubt that he relished in the pain he brought specifically to Draco. They had never liked one another from the start.

"I'm not asking you to talk to him," Sirius spoke calmly. "Not yet, at least. All I want is for you go down there and clean him up, maybe heal a few of his wounds. Soften him to you again, and we'll go from there."

Again with the lies. 'We'll go from there.' Honestly, they truly thought she was as thick as the dungeon walls. She knew what came after tending to Draco; _talking_ to Draco. Convincing him to trust her and spill all his darkest secrets. While he evidently wanted her in his possession, she had no idea how he felt about her now, and feared that he only wanted revenge. After all, she had abandoned him, hadn't she? Justifiably, of course, but he clearly wasn't a level-headed man, so perhaps he didn't see her reasoning.

"I said no." Octavia stated firmly.

"I wasn't asking," Sirius replied sadly, not meeting her gaze. "It's an order, Octavia."

"Prisoner rations are in the pantry to the left," Ron sighed, pushing himself from the wall. "Clothes and salves can be provided by Madam Pomfrey."

Furrowing her brows, Octavia averted her defeated gaze to the ground, not watching as the two made to leave the kitchen. Before Sirius followed Ron out through the doorway, he paused, not glancing back at her.

"You have one hour," Sirius stated. "I expect you to report to me afterwards."

* * *

A bucket handle cut into her forearm as she strolled reluctantly down the dim corridor, a tray grasped tightly in her hands. Sparse rations and a glass of water sat atop the platter, wobbling slightly as she moved, the soapy liquid in the bucket sploshing with every step. A small jar of healing salve sat next to the plate of stale bread and a few portions of sliced apple, scattered pieces of gauze and bandages knocking against the rim of the plate.

Octavia had been in the dungeons once before, when they had first located the abbey. She and Pansy had gone on a little exploring adventure those few months ago, enjoying a sliver of fun and excitement in the darkness that was their lives. She hadn't liked the chamber back then, and that hadn't changed. If anything, she loathed the dungeons now.

Mossy walls glistened with the light of the torches fastened into the cracks, the floors dewy and damp, decaying stone surrounding her. As she made her way down to the end of the corridor, she passed several cell-doors, groans from the prisoners inside echoing out. It only served to increase the haunting eeriness she felt in the bowels of the abbey, her heartrate picking up as the cage-door at the very end came into view.

Swallowing thickly, Octavia flicked her combed curls over her shoulder, fleetingly wondering how she looked. Of course, she quickly scolded herself for such thoughts, and dismissed it as a nostalgic preparation to seeing Draco. When they were together, years ago, she would ensure that she looked her best before meeting him in their spot. She would fuss over her attire and curls, gussying herself up just for him. But things were different now, yet she had combed her curls to perfection, and had pinched her cheeks and lips. Her eyes remained dull and lifeless, circled with faint black rings, her body skinny and frail. Octavia had never been in possession of prominent curves, but now her hips were narrow like her waist, and beneath her collarbone were the faint lines of her ribcage. Hunger and trauma tended to have that effect on people.

Octavia would like to think that if she had luxuries, such as concealer or mascara, that she wouldn't have used them in preparation of this moment. But deep down, in the most undignified pits of her soul, she knew she would have. Alas, she was in possession of no such item, so neared Draco's locked cell with blemishes scattering her chin and left temple, black circles surrounding her eyes, and her au naturale lashes.

A cell door to the left clinked open, Cedric Diggory stepping over the threshold. Octavia met his gaze before he turned and locked the door behind him. She couldn't claim to be surprised when he fell into step behind her through the dank corridor toward Draco's cell, for he had likely been ordered to maintain a close proximity to her while she carried out her task. Perhaps to eavesdrop on the interaction, or to ensure her safety.

They came to a stop at the barred cell door, Cedric stepping around her, the cluster of rusted keys jangling in his hand. Octavia breathed deeply, slowly, in an attempt to soothe her rapidly beating heart and conceal her trepidation, but whether or not she was successful, she didn't know. The slow, loud clank of the metal door shot a jolt of fear through her, but she pretended otherwise, keeping her blemished chin held high.

"I'll be right outside," Cedric assured, stepping to the side as the door creaked open.

Swallowing thickly, Octavia nodded and clutched the tray of supplies tightly in her shaky hands. Despite the dim light in the corridor, it took Octavia's eyes a moment to adjust to the sheer darkness in the cell. She couldn't see anything, not the walls, nor the prisoner. Cedric muttered a spell, causing a ball of white light to soar into the cell, illuminating the entire space. Her heart caught in throat the moment her gaze locked onto white blond hair, but she forced herself to show no emotion.

Instead of locking eyes with the prisoner, Octavia averted her gaze to the damp floor, noticing a few puddles of water that leaked from the roof, sploshes of blood seeping into them. Cedric pressed his palm between her shoulder blades, giving her a gentle nudge. She took the hint and stumbled forward into the cell, the door closing and locking behind her. The loud clang of the lock caused a shiver to run down her spine, her mind screaming at the realisation that she had been locked in a room with Draco Malfoy.

There was no sound once the door had locked. Only the uneven breaths that escaped her and the soft thuds of her footsteps that echoed off the moist walls. Although, she could have sworn that she heard the occasional rat scurrying in the walls, but dismissed it with great effort. The knowledge of rats in her vicinity would only serve to increase her fear.

Octavia forced her reluctant feet to drag across the harsh stone ground in the direction of the silent prisoner, the objects on the tray clattering from the sheer shakes of her hands. Draco sat up against the wall, his hands chained behind his back, shirt torn and bloodied, smeared with dirt, knees bent and feet resting on the ground. Even his evidently once costly shoes were grimy with blood and dirt, she noticed. She only noticed this, however, for she made it her priority to look anywhere but his face. For if she looked at his face, his eyes would catch her attention, and that would only send her into a fit of despair. She was barely keeping it together without the added strain of locking gazes with the man she loved and despised.

Octavia came to a stop at his spread legs, anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to the other, unsure where to settle herself. If she knelt between his legs, she would have a better position to see to his wounds, but it was far too familiar and intimate for her fragile strength. Making her decision, Octavia scuffed around him, warily dropping to her knees beside his left leg, her anxious gaze on the tray she settled on her knees. The ball of white glowing light had followed her movements, providing sufficient illumination for her to perform her tasks, but also illuminating the one thing she wished to not see. His face.

While Octavia forced herself to avert her eyes from his face, her peripherals caught sight of it. His head was turned to the side, facing her, bowed slightly from exertion and weariness, undoubtedly staring right at her. The side of her sickly pale face glowed from the light above, the shadows of her hollow cheeks emphasised, the dimness of her once sparkling eyes highlighted. She had no doubt that he was assessing her changed features, from the darkness around her eyes, to the cracked and pale lips that were so different from the ones he used to kiss.

Combed, but limp and dry curls cascaded down the other side of her face as she fumbled with the objects on the tray, not knowing where to begin. Should she heal him first, or feed him? Deciding against both options, Octavia grasped the glass of water instead, the transparent liquid sloshing around from the violent trembling of her hand. She hurriedly stuck a straw into the glass before clutching it with two hands and bringing it closer to his face. All the while, she kept her agonised eyes on the glass, not daring to meet his gaze.

The straw moved in the glass, quickly followed by the soft sounds of swallows, informing her that Draco was accepting the offered hydration. But her hands continued to tremble, the glass jittering, the water swilling, her heartrate never calming. If anything, her unease and fear only increased with each second in the damp and icy cold cell.

Even Octavia felt the chill penetrate her goosebump plagued body, and she was fortunate enough to be dressed in a tight black sweater, once tight jeans that hung off her skinny hips and combat boots. Draco, however, wore a thin torn shirt, black trousers smeared with dirt, and nothing to ward off the nippy air of the dungeons. Not that he should be warm, though, for he was nothing more than prisoner, and prisoners were not worthy of luxuries such as warmth. At least, that's what she mentally told herself, repeatedly, as though it would thwart the twinge of pity inside of her. The pity that he didn't deserve.

Once the glass had been emptied completely, the straw was released and she shakily placed it back onto the tray. Her trembling hands retrieved the plate of meagre food, her eyes assessing the browning slices of apple. And then she realised, cursing inwardly, that Draco's hands were chained behind his back, so he couldn't feed himself.

With shaky movements and breaths, Octavia lifted the almost solid piece of bread from the cracked plate and raised it to his face. Her gaze fixed on his neck, unable and unwilling to meet his eyes, hoping that he would remain silent and just eat. Her wish was granted. The bread in her hand shifted slightly, quickly followed by the almost inaudible sound of chewing before his throat moved, his Adam's apple rising and falling as he swallowed. Again, the same thing happened, and again, it all felt impossibly time-consuming and horrendously long. But in reality, it only took a few minutes for the bread to be consumed completely, his last bite causing his lips to touch her fingers, her heart soaring and stomach twisting at the sensation.

Her face burned with the intensity of his stare, knowing that he watched her unwaveringly for the entire duration of her visit. It took every scrap of strength and self-preservation to not speak or look into his eyes, for if she did, she would crumble. It was difficult enough being in his presence after all that had happened, and it hardly helped matters that she could literally feel darkness surrounding him. Or was that danger? She couldn't be sure. It was even possible that the threatening atmosphere she felt was merely a product of her fear-induced imagination. So she dismissed it and focused on her task.

Octavia placed the plate onto the tray before taking an apple slice, her gaze remaining on his throat. Draco leaned forward to take it from her fingers, the clanging of the chains sounding out from his movements. His impossibly soft lips intentionally grazed over her fingers before he placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. The kiss lingered, his warm breath cascading over her skin, her mind and heart shattering into oblivion.

A choked, strangled whisper of a noise escaped Octavia as she bowed her head, her body trembling visibly, the apple still raised and offered. Her entire body lit up with horror and revulsion from his kiss, but it was almost unbearable due to the swell in her heart. Tears burned at her anguished hazel eyes, her cracked bottom lip quivering.

Self-hatred consumed her as he took the apple from her shaking fingers, the crunching sound of the fruit indicating that he was eating it. She fumbled with the second piece of apple on the plate, her fingers tingling and trembling, until she successfully grasped onto it and brought it to his lips.

Never tearing her gaze from his throat, she attempted to clear her mind and heart of all emotions, watching as his Adam's apple rose and fell with each swallow. He didn't try to kiss her hand again, and Octavia didn't even bother pondering why. She had to focus on anything but him if she were to remain strong in any sense of the word.

The last piece of apple was offered, taken, and consumed without a hitch, leaving her with fifteen minutes and the task she dreaded most of all. Nursing his wounds.

Well, Octavia wasn't actually meant to _heal_ his wounds. He was a prisoner, after all. But they had to be cleaned to prevent infection, and therefore, an untimely death of a potentially valuable prisoner. The worst of the injuries would be healed, if deemed life-threatening, but other than that, she was there to clean and bandage them. But it meant one awful certainty; Octavia would have to look at his face.

The blood that her peripherals noticed indicated that his face was injured in several places, so she would have to see to them. She just hoped that the strength inside of her remained, and that she was able to resist locking eyes with him.

Pulling the bucket of soapy water closer to her, Octavia grabbed a rag from the tray and dunked it in, water engulfing up to her thin wrist. His eyes could be felt burning into the side of her face still, his gaze having never left her face since she had arrived. A part of her wished that he found himself repulsed at her sickly appearance, just so he would avert his stare in disgust.

Wringing out the excess water from the rag, Octavia breathed shakily, turning her attention to his torn shirt. Lacerations scattered his chest, some small, others long and thick. All were no longer bleeding, but crusted over with dried black blood, crimson liquid and dirt smeared around the incisions. Octavia went to wipe at the injuries to clean the dirt away, but quickly realised that it wouldn't be easy with his shirt still on.

Dropping the soapy rag onto her lap, Octavia fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, her hands quaking, eyes watering. Once successfully unfastening the top four buttons, Octavia's face contorted into a grimace at the sight she was met with. His chest was much more muscular than it had been three years ago, but that's not what had her grimacing. It was the sheer amount of scars that decorated the pale chest, accompanied by incredible amounts of slashes and black bruises. The wounds were fresh, undoubtedly courtesy of Ron and Cedric, but the scars were old, perhaps by a few years.

As she grabbed the rag and brought it to his chest, Octavia dazedly felt trickles of tears run down her cheeks. But she ignored them, wiping gingerly at the grime on his skin, taking extra care to be gentle when grazing over the incisions. As she cleaned, her gaze couldn't help but linger over the healed silver scars, all of them thin, about an inch long, scattering his muscular pecs, decorating his abs, trailing down to the V-shape that disappeared into his slacks.

Once his chest was cleared of all grime and blood, Octavia swapped the rag for the gauzes and salve on the tray. She could hear the gravelly hitches in her own breathing as she unscrewed the lid of the jar, dipping her index finger in, scooping out the white substance. It felt like moisturiser, she fleetingly realised.

Knowing from personal experience that the salve hurt like hell when applied to wounds, Octavia gingerly smeared it over his cuts, waiting for the sharp inhale of breath, or a gasp of pain. But it didn't come. Like an idiot, she glanced up at him in mild surprise, and immediately regretting it, scolding herself internally. The moment she locked her gaze onto his face, tears streamed out of her eyes, soaking her cheeks as her face scrunched up.

It wasn't that Draco's incredibly handsome face was scattered in the same small scars that his chest displayed, nor was it the shining purple bruise on his chiselled jawline. It was merely the sight of the face that she had once loved and known so well. Thankfully, his eyes were not on her face.

Draco's gaze raked over her skinny body slowly, lingering over her prominent collarbone, travelling down to the protruding hipbones that showed from the low hung jeans that used to fit her to perfection. His jaw was clenched tightly as his hard silver eyes drank in her sickly appearance, a glimmer of concern shining in the silver she once sought comfort in. His stare travelled all around her, Octavia perfectly still as she gazed at him with glassy eyes, unable to resume her task, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

It felt as though time had stilled. Completely stopped, paused, unable to resume in that moment. The earth no longer revolved, it had frozen in space and time. For his gaze snapped up to hers, and her heart melted into a pool of despair. A sharp inhale sounded out when their gazes locked, but she wasn't certain if it had come only from her, or both of them.

A pool of enchanting dangerous silver held her attention completely, Octavia in a trance as his glowing eyes took her back in time. She saw the softness in his hardened eyes, the affection amidst the stone, the love swarming the molten silver. His blond hair hung over his forehead, brushing over his perfectly sculpted brows as he stared intensely at her. Her lungs constricted, for she couldn't breathe. He had stolen the air from her body with his eyes alone, while hers leaked an endless stream of tears, agony and love shining brilliantly in once dim hazel.

Octavia flinched and dropped the rag as a bang shredded through the still air of the cell, closely followed by Cedric's familiar voice.

"Time's up!" Cedric declared, banging on the metal bars of the cell door.

Never more grateful for Cedric in her life, Octavia was hauled from her daze, crashing back into the brutal reality that was her life. But a small mental thought pierced through the anguish inside of her, Octavia almost wishing that she had spent less time fretting over her appearance before journeying down to complete her assigned task. For she had known that the time allotment spanned only as far as an hour, and a sick, twisted part of her yearned for more time with Draco. If only to become lost in his eyes again, for those swarms of silver had taken her back to a time without pain and fear, filled only with love and happiness.

Fumbling with the tray, Octavia hurriedly scrambled to her feet, focusing only on the violent urge to get the hell out of there, away from Draco, away from the power he had over her. She didn't spare him a glance as she turned and bolted out of the cell, but she could feel his intense stare on her curls as she departed.

It wasn't until Cedric had locked the door behind her that she burst into a fit of wretched sobs, dropping to her knees, the tray crashing to the ground. The sounds of agony tore through the dungeons, finding the ears of the prisoner she had just visited, tears of his own pooling in his pained eyes, longing for her return.

The return of the woman he loved and destroyed.


	3. Chapter 3

The curls fastened atop her head bounced with her hesitant steps, loose tresses framing her pale face. Traces of beauty lingered on her features, but had almost completely withered away by the hunger and stress. Pinched lips and cheeks provided a faint rosy effect, but not enough to fool anyone into thinking that she wasn't malnourished and poorly. Hooded hazel eyes sparkled with anticipation and nostalgia, fear swarming darkly beneath the glistens. Her boots connected with the mossy ground, her loose-fitted jeans rustling as she moved, her white tank-top much too thin for the frosty air that chilled her skin.

This time it was Ron guarding her in the dungeons. Only two days after her first visit, her assistance had been demanded again, but she had expected it. The emotional whirlwind that encompassed her two days ago had yet to depart, consuming her entirely, fraying her nerves, watering her eyes, killing her soul.

The tray contained the same items as it did last time, and the bucket, like last time, sloshed and swayed with her sluggish movements. Ron led the way down the dark corridor, orange glows shining on the mossy walls from the torches attached to the cracks. The journey to the metal door ahead seemed longer than ever before, and each step closer caused her heart to pound violently against her bosom and constrict at the same time.

When they reached the door, Ron didn't perform the same light spell that Cedric had. He stuffed the key in the old rusted lock, the horridly loud clank informing her that the door was now unlocked. Ron pushed open the barred door with a creak, stepping to the side to allow her passage.

"You have twenty minutes," Ron stated firmly.

"Last time I had an hour," Octavia frowned, not sure why she wanted to dispute the matter.

Not responding, Ron just stared at her coolly, sticking to his time allotment. Octavia sighed after a moment, turning her attention to the darkness inside the cell.

"I can't see," Octavia said.

Ron pulled out his wand, conjuring a white ball of light with a twirl of his wand, muttering the spell beneath his breath. The glowing white ball soared into the darkness, illuminating the depressing cell and the stoic prisoner. Octavia instantly averted her gaze to the puddles on the floor as she stepped over the threshold, the door slamming shut behind her.

Approaching the prisoner chained to the wall, Octavia did as she did before, kneeling at his side before gathering the plate of food. Not meeting his burning silver gaze, Octavia automatically held up the stale piece of bread to his face, feeling it move after a few moments. Draco remained silent as he ate, but she could sense his eyes on her the entire time. Presumably regarding her less than attractive appearance, much like last time.

Except, unlike last time, she had instructions to speak to him. Not permission, but an order. A part of her wondered if she should have informed Hermione of her assignment, but knew that it would only end in further dictations. Hermione would oppose Sirius, and the winner would be in control of Octavia's tasks. And if Hermione won, Octavia would be robbed of the time she spent with Draco, and for some inexplicable reason, the prospect caused her heart to constrict horridly.

Reminding herself that he wasn't the man she loved, Octavia lowered her hand once the bread had been consumed entirely, returning her attentions to the plate. She picked up a single piece of brownish apple, holding it up to his lips, staring at the tray as though it was more interesting than man she hand-fed. It wasn't.

Once the feeding task was complete, Octavia hastily fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, frowning at the realisation that they had been refastened after her last visit. Peculiar, but unimportant. With the last button, Octavia employed slow and delicate movements, for there was a fresh and bleeding gash on his lower abdomen. It wasn't deep enough to be life-threatening, but still oozed fresh blood, and was ghastly enough to provoke the tears she had hoped would not assault her.

Grabbing a fresh cloth from the tray, Octavia soaked it in the fresh water contained in the glass she had not offered him yet. Gingerly, she used the cloth to wipe away at the reddened skin around the cut, waiting for the gasp of pain that didn't come. This time, however, she daren't look up at him when no gasps of pain sounded out. She kept her focus on his injury, cleaning it with delicate and careful movements, ignoring the feel of his eyes burning into her face.

In truth, Octavia had no idea what she was doing. Madam Pomfrey was much better equipped to heal wounds, particularly fresh ones. But she knew enough, apparently, for she had been assigned the task of tending to their most dangerous prisoner's injuries. His body didn't tense in the slightest as a little water dripped into his wound, he didn't flinch as she wiped away the blood, displaying a great pain tolerance that she didn't think was possible.

Licking her dry lips anxiously, Octavia dropped the now red cloth onto the tray in favour of the salve and gauzes. She dipped her finger into the jar of healing gunge, her gaze fixed on her movements, snubbing his intense stare that burned into her averted eyes. The moment her shaky fingers touched the cleaned gash, Draco's body tensed, the definition of his muscles clearer than ever. She paused, swallowing thickly, wondering if she had caused him pain or not. His body remained tense, her gaze unable to refrain from fixing on his scarred abs, her cheeks featuring a natural flush. It took her a moment to realise that his reaction to her touch was not of pain, but of pleasure.

He missed her touch.

The realisation struck brutal agony through her body and soul, her face scrunching up as tears wet her blushing cheeks. But she continued to smear the white substance onto his gash delicately, pretending – quite poorly – that she was oblivious and disinterested. There was no use in feigning a pretence, however, for Draco knew her. To him, she was an open book of raw emotions, his eyes recognising every flicker of emotion that flashed on her features and in the hazel he stared at intently. But he could stare into her eyes all he wanted, for she wouldn't meet his gaze. Not if she could help it.

Shaky slender fingers massaged the salve into his wound, glassy hazel eyes watching as the laceration began to close, knitting itself shut. A thick red line was left in its wake, evidently painful, but no longer open to infection or bleeding. Yet she continued to knead the substance onto the wound slowly, as though lost in a daydream, unaware of her actions. Draco didn't stop her, instead, watched her intently, his muscles tightening under her touch, his stormy silver eyes filled with dark desire and affection.

For the first time in three years, lust pooled at her core, nostalgic desire tingling through her veins. The sensation hauled her from her daze, her fingers pulling away from his skin as though he had burned her. Frowning at the strange occurrence, Octavia placed the jar on the tray. She unrolled the gauzes and stuck them to the reddened injured skin, unsure if the wound required the dressing or not, but doing it anyway. It prolonged her time with him, and she needed that, for she had yet to ask what she had been ordered to, as she was unable to find her voice.

Draco didn't seem to have that problem, though.

"Octavia," Draco whispered hoarsely, her body freezing immediately.

The air around them thickened, her soul screaming out in total anguish, rage clouding her hazel eyes. The hurt was there to see behind the rage, and he saw it, for she snapped her head up, her sparkling eyes boring into his stormy silver orbs.

Suddenly, Octavia's hands left the gauzes, her right hand raising and slapping right across his face brutally. The crack of the assault echoed through the cell, bouncing off the walls, out into the corridor of the dungeon. Ron's scuffled footsteps sounded out, and if Octavia had cared, she would have assumed that Ron was peering in through the cell door. But she didn't care, for her focus was solely on Draco and her fury.

Draco's head was turned to the side, a pink handprint on his cheek, merged with the fresh bruise on his cheekbone. The glimmer of pity inside of her went ignored as she leaned closer to him, her nose a mere inch away from his reddened cheek.

"You don't get to say my name, you fucking arse." Octavia hissed venomously, all three years of betrayal, hurt and heartache morphing into blind rage. "You don't get to even _think_ my name."

Pushing herself up onto her feet, Octavia snatched the tray, fleetingly noticing the full glass of water she had yet to offer him. The fury burned and surged within her, feeling that familiar fire begging to be released, but she pushed it down with all her might.

Snatching the glass with one hand, Octavia glowered down at Draco as he slowly craned his neck, his expression cold and stoic as ever. Molten silver gave his anger away as he glared up at her, his jaw clenched tightly.

"Here's your water," Octavia spat viciously.

Octavia's upper lip curled in pure rage, gripping the glass tightly as she tossed the contents down at him. Draco's face didn't flinch as he was doused in icy cold water, his eyes shutting upon reflex. Wet hair brushed over his brow as he slowly opened his eyes, molten silver glowering up at her, water flowing down his recently healed chest.

Staring down at him in utter distaste, Octavia scolded herself for the fleeting recognition of his attractiveness, finding herself to be utterly bonkers. She turned, storming out of the cell, the door opening as she approached. Ron held the door open for her, smirking at a drenched Draco, but the prisoner kept his gaze of fury and yearning on the blonde bundle of curls that bounced with her steps. His silver eyes didn't leave the door, not even when it shut and Octavia was no longer visible to him.

But he heard it, just as he had the last time she visited the cell. He heard the absolute anguished sob that shredded his heart and engulfed him with misery.

He heard the sound of his broken love.

* * *

After debriefing Sirius on how little Octavia had said when tending to Draco, she returned to her bedroom in hopes of getting some much needed rest. But as she stepped through the door, the sight of Pansy slumbering on the bottom bunk met her, as well as the sounds of her incessant sleep-talking. As Octavia had no sleeping draught to force her into a deep snooze, the incredibly annoying mutters of Pansy would keep rest at bay for some time. Another night of tossing and turning awaited Octavia, it seemed.

Deciding to change for bed, and journey down to the kitchens for a nightcap of the straight vodka variety, Octavia snuck over to the dresser quietly. She was careful not to wake Pansy, not wanting to interrupt a potentially extensive prophecy dream, and not wishing to endure Pansy's questions regarding the latest visit to the dungeons.

Peeling off her tight jumper, Octavia resisted the urge to shudder from the iciness of the bedroom. It was clear that Pansy had charmed the room with a few warming spells, but it was never enough to ward off the frosty winter air from outside. The abbey was much too old in construction, so the seasonal conditions had a way of creeping in through the cracks in the brick walls.

As she riffled through the top drawer, containing every piece of sparse clothing in Octavia's possession, she noticed that her woollen leggings were gone. With a scowl, Octavia quickly decided that Pansy had borrowed them, for the brunette seemed incapable of doing her own laundry, therefore nicked Octavia's garments regularly. Normally, that wouldn't bother her, but she didn't have much else to wear that was clean.

Sighing in annoyance, Octavia pulled on an old oversized t-shirt before stuffing her feet into woollen socks and Ugg boots. Her hardened nipples pushed against the thin material of the t-shirt, demonstrating the coldness surrounding her. Snatching Pansy's beige suede jacket from the second drawer, Octavia slipped it onto her body with slow and lazy movements.

The aftereffects of meeting Draco for the second time in three excruciatingly long years still consumed her, her mind frazzled, yet dazed, her nerves frayed, and heart full of anguish. But she didn't let it overwhelm her into a fit of sobs, for she had nothing left to cry. No tears existed to shed, for they had all been released already. It wasn't a comforting feeling, for it felt as though she had a bubbling bottle of emotions within her, begging to explode, pleading for release, but unable to do so.

In truth, it had all become rather tedious. She was bored of the pain and anguish, fed up with the sobs and heartache, tired of self-pity and misery. But that didn't change how she felt. If anything, it only added irritability to the dangerous concoction of emotions stirring inside of her.

Feeling on the verge of hazardous breakdown, Octavia snuck out of the bedroom quietly, her mind filled with soothing images of a crisp glass of vodka. She knew where the secret stash was, buried deep inside of the pantry in the kitchens, property of Mad-Eye Moody. The all-seeing Auror would know of her thievery, given that he had a magical eye in his possession – and head – but she was hardly concerned about that. She needed it more than he did, and as Madam Pomfrey had ceased issuing her sleeping draughts, it appeared to be her only option to enjoy a peaceful slumber that night.

Clutching the borrowed winter jacket tightly around her body, Octavia relished in the warmth that the woollen interior provided her with. The warming charms that several Order members had cast around the abbey didn't seem to do a whole in warding off the frosty winter chill, so most rugged up around the large abandoned construction. Octavia couldn't help but think of Draco down in the dungeons, how cold he would be, how thirsty, given she had wasted his water. A pang of sorrow clenched inside of her, but she reminded herself that he had done so much worse to countless innocent people. Still, the reminder didn't register with her. It didn't reason with her aching heart, for hearts couldn't be reasoned with. There was no logic when it came to her overwhelming emotions, so she felt everything she shouldn't have. Her heart yearned for him, her body ached for his touch, but her mind loathed him impossibly.

Slinking down the stone decaying staircase, Octavia gripped firmly onto the bannister through fear of the stairs crumbling beneath her. They were old and fragile, some steps already reduced to rubble, so it was a reasonable fear to harbour. A part of her wondered if she would die should the staircase collapse, and for some reason, the prospect brought her a sliver of comfort, not fear. For to die would mean to escape. Escape all the torment inside of her, the horror around her, the terror of what the world had become at the hands of those she once called her friends, and in one horrid case, her lover.

Successfully descending the staircase without perishing, Octavia walked through the dim hallways of the abbey, making her way to the kitchen. Nearing her reprieve; the vodka.

As she reached the kitchen, however, she noticed that the door was slightly ajar, a slice of light escaping the crack. Slowing her steps, Octavia crept up to the ajar door, employing stealthy and silent movements as voices sounded out.

"He's not worth it," Molly said, Octavia standing by the doorway, listening intently. "We feed him, waste our healing resources on him, and all he's doing is upsetting Octavia. He won't speak, not to anyone, even her. I don't trust him and think that we all can agree that he poses more threat to us than value."

"I just can't fathom how you thought that it would help anyone by sending her down there," Hermione bit, her tone far shriller than Molly's relatively calm voice. "You went over my head, Ron, and put my cousin in danger."

"He didn't hurt her, did he?" Ron snapped defensively. "He's not dangerous when he's chained to a bloody wall, locked in a cell, trapped in a dungeon that's constantly guarded. You're overreacting, and that's why I didn't tell you."

"You can't approach this with emotion," Sirius said. "Yes, she's your cousin, and we can all agree that since he was brought to the abbey, Octavia has fallen into a depression. But this is war, and we're all scared, we're all hurt and betrayed by those we love. Harry … He was – _is_ – my godson, a boy I raised and loved for sixteen years. I still love him, like he is my own, so I know more than anyone what Octavia's going through. But I still fight against Harry and his tyranny, because it's the right thing to do. Octavia needs to put aside her emotions and do the same for the greater good."

"Sending her down there to see Malfoy in that state is not helping us, nor her." Molly countered wearily. "It's destroying her, and we need to accept that he isn't going to talk. Do you honestly think that if she cleans him up enough that he'll spill all of his secrets? Of course he won't, and you're foolish to think otherwise."

"Then what do you propose?" Remus asked.

"You know my views on this," Hermione said. "I want him removed."

A silence filled the kitchen, Octavia straining to hear any whispers of conversation. She knew exactly what Hermione meant by 'removed'. She wanted Draco to be killed.

"We'll call an official meeting at the end of the week," Remus spoke after a while. "Everyone will have the chance to argue their case, and we'll vote on it together."

Octavia flinched as the sound of chairs scraping against stone sounded out, the occupants of the room evidently moving to depart. Before the door could open fully to reveal herself at the threshold, Octavia backed away, glancing around with wide eyes, searching for an escape. She quickly scurried to the backdoor further down the hallway, pushing herself through the door, out into the snowy gardens of the land surrounding the abbey.

The chill of the night air bit harshly at her bare legs, but she resisted the urge to return to the mild warmth of the building and ventured further out. Ugg boots crunched against the thick crisp snow on the ground, Octavia plodding over to the stone benches a few metres away. Once she reached the benches, she used her bare hands to shove off the slabs of snow, clearing the space scrappily.

Before she could even plop her bottom down onto the bench, the tears she had thought were drained dry overwhelmed her suddenly, her face scrunched up in anguish. She sat on the stone bench, her body plagued with goosebumps, face buried in her hands as she wept, the energy for sobbing no longer within her.

Despite everything that Draco had done, from murder and torture to betrayal, Octavia couldn't stomach the thought of his death. No matter what he had become, she couldn't deny the fact that she loved him to her core, and would be utterly destroyed if he died. Not destroyed in the way she was now, but shattered into oblivion. But it was inevitable, wasn't it? Whether or not the Order voted to kill him, he would die. It may not be that week, but in future. In a battle, in the dungeons, in his bed of old age; wherever and whenever it was, he would perish. But the prospect killed her inside, causing stirs of nausea to swarm inside of her, agony to tear her soul apart. It was horror. No matter what happened, she would never feel happy again.

Draco could live a full life and die of natural causes, therefore she would be surrounded by misery at what he had become, for the rest of her days. He could die that week by the hands of an Order member, and she would never be the same again, mourning a man she loved and loathed. There was no victory for her. Regardless of the outcome, she was destined for heartbreak and eternal melancholy.

A part of her wished that she had never known Draco, nor Hermione. She wished that she had remained blissfully ignorant of the magical world that had brought her such happiness and misery, and instead, lived her life as a muggle. She wished that her parents hadn't been obliviated before being shipped off to Australia with Hermione's.

Alas, this was her life. She was a witch, in the tumultuous magical world, belonging to a cruel man, broken by his treachery, fighting a war against him, but hopelessly in love with him. Perhaps in another world, in a parallel universe, she could have been happy with Draco. Perhaps, in a fantasy land, she could have married him, loved him, bore his children, and enjoyed a healthy relationship with him. It was a nice thought. But didn't change her current reality in the slightest.

The sound of the backdoor behind her groaned through the still night sky, pulling her back to the reality she despised. Crunching footsteps neared, light, but determined. She didn't have to glance over her shoulder to know who was approaching her. Before her cousin could approach, Octavia wiped hurriedly at the evidence of her tears, snivelling to clear her throat and nose.

Hermione seated herself beside Octavia on the stone bench, their gazes staring right ahead, out onto the snowy landscape of the English countryside. She didn't flinch as Hermione's hand rested atop hers gently, their fingers entwining in a silent gesture of comfort.

"There's a meeting on the weekend," Hermione whispered, afraid to employ a normal volume that would shatter the calm air around them. "All of the Order will be there."

"I heard." Octavia stated bitterly.

Seemingly unsurprised, Hermione nodded slightly, remaining silent for a moment.

"I'm not sure what the verdict will be," Hermione said after a while, as though her uncertainty would comfort Octavia. It didn't.

"Yes you do." Octavia whispered. "They'll kill him. If not then, soon after. He won't talk to me, and that's the only reason he's still alive."

"I don't want you to see him," Hermione said quietly. "It's doing things to you. I haven't seen you smile once since he was brought here."

"I don't think I've smiled in three years, Hermione." Octavia countered.

"Not much," Hermione nodded. "But sometimes you have. When you – when _we_ – forget. But with him here … I'm worried about you."

 _'_ _Me too,'_ she wanted to say, but that would only increase Hermione's concern. It may fuel her determination to 'remove' Draco from Octavia's life and vicinity, and in truth, Octavia didn't want that. She saw the logic behind the desire, but her heart refused to agree to it.

"I don't trust him," Hermione continued as Octavia gazed ahead with glassy eyes.

"I know," Octavia whispered hoarsely. "I don't either."

Hermione shook her head, sighing before speaking. "I don't trust that he's here against his will. I want to leave, but Sirius is adamant that they have Malfoy under control."

"Why else would he be here?"

"To get you."

"But if that's the case, he would've taken me already." Octavia countered, her cheeks damp and voice husky. "He's been here for almost two weeks, tortured every day, and seen me twice. If he could've taken me, he would've done it already."

Hermione frowned and nodded slowly, pensive, unconvinced.

"Maybe he wants something else." Hermione pondered aloud after a moment. "Maybe he's waiting for something."

"Waiting for what?"

"I don't know." Hermione sighed wearily. "Nothing good."

"So what do you wanna do?" Octavia frowned, staring straight ahead. "Other than kill him."

"Leave." Hermione said, grimacing at the sharpness of O's tone. "I want to get you out of here."

"And go where?" Octavia laughed emptily, glancing around her as though they were surrounded by a barren world and not the gardens of the abbey.

"Wherever the war takes us," Hermione shrugged. "I want to keep on fighting, but not here, not with him in the same building you sleep in at night."

"I dunno," Octavia whispered. "I don't feel right just leaving everyone."

"Others agree with me," Hermione informed. "Molly, Pansy, Luna, Cedric, and more. They want to leave too. Not everyone feels safe with Malfoy locked in the dungeons. Not everyone wants Sirius in charge anymore."

"He's not in charge," Octavia frowned, not truly convinced by her own words. "Remus, Mad-Eye, Arthur and Molly are in charge with Sirius."

"Sirius isn't listening to anyone," Hermione argued. "He's letting his pain get the better of him, taking too many risks, trying to fix something he blames himself for. He's put us all in danger by bringing Malfoy here, and he doesn't even see it."

"So you want to run away?" Octavia asked without judgement. A part of her wanted to run too. But to escape meant to leave Draco behind, and an ugly part of her wanted to stay, to visit him, to see him.

"I think it's best," Hermione nodded. "It depends on the vote tomorrow, but if … if we need to, I think we should go."

Silent tears trickled down her blotchy cold cheeks as she gazed out onto the landscape, agony shining in her once dim hazel eyes, cracked pale lips pressed together in thought. It took her a moment to process it all, but she knew the right decision. Not the decision she wanted to make, but the one that was right for herself, and the others. The decision she would've given anything to avoid, but there truly was no other option.

"Ok."


	4. Chapter 4

Determination lashed around Octavia as she marched down the corridor, her fragility and anxiety tainting her resolve. The platter in her hands shook from the tremble of her hands, but she paid it no mind, focusing her attention on the metal barred door ahead. Her grey boots clomped against the stone ground, her curls flowing freely down her back, bouncing with each determined step. Her white jeans hung loosely off her frail limbs, a baggy grey sweater poorly concealing the skinniness beneath. The attire kept her warm in the frostiness of the dungeons, whilst shielding her sickly appearance from Draco's eyes, to an extent. Not that she cared about his opinion of her appearance.

Ron led the way down the torch-lit corridor, prisoners groaning in pain, stirring from their slumbers as they awoke to the sound of footsteps. Octavia forced herself to overlook the other prisoners in the cells lining the walls, for she couldn't afford any distractions. That day, she had to retrieve information from Draco in order to keep him alive; a task that required the utmost concentration and focus. It was difficult to maintain such centred effort, however, for Octavia couldn't deny the haunting atmosphere around her. For some reason, visiting Draco was harder than it had ever been before, including the very first time one week ago.

This time was different. It was far more frightening, eerier, crueller and downright gruelling. Not only did she have the pressure of the impending Order meeting that night to worry about, she had to ensure that she had a scrap of information to offer them from Draco. For if she didn't, he would surely be killed come morning. Again, this only increased her stress to impossible measures, for she was therefore faced with the issue of herself.

The fact that she was willing to assist a cold blooded killer out of ugly nostalgic love was revolting. It was disgusting, and she should be ashamed of herself. In fact, she was most definitely ashamed of herself, but remained determined regardless. If only to buy him another day or so. If only to buy herself more time with him.

Danger vibrated off the stone walls as she strolled behind Ron. It was not a foreign atmosphere in the dungeons, but it was stronger than ever. The prisoners remained silent, other than the occasional groan or cough, but she felt them. She felt their eyes on her as she walked by their cell doors, their silence as they observed her. She almost felt like there was one big, sick joke amongst them, and she was the punchline. Of course, that was a silly thought; they were the prisoners, and she had the power. Right?

They reached the intended cell door, rusted over by years of abandonment and a leaking roof. With a suddenly wavering resolve, Octavia puckered her lips, inhaling deeply through her nostrils, calming her stirring anxiety. The familiar clang, clank and groan of the door send shivers of anticipation down her spine, laced with the horrid fear and desire to flee. The door screeched slightly as Ron pushed it open, stepping to the side, his blue eyes locking with hazel.

"Half an hour," Ron said crisply, Octavia nodding tightly in response.

It wasn't as much time as she would have liked, but she would have to make do. Also, Octavia just didn't have the gall to debate the matter with Ron, for his temperament was fragile, the cracking calmness showing in his burning eyes. He flicked his wand, causing a ball of white light to soar into the cell, illuminating the darkness, penetrating the gloom.

Tearing her gaze away from his hateful one, Octavia swallowed thickly and stepped over the threshold. Her boots clocked against the stone ground, not touching the puddles that she weaved her way around, the vibrating slam of the door ringing in her ears. Unlike each time prior, Octavia instantly locked her gaze onto the handsome face of the prisoner, bile creeping up her throat at the fresh bruises and cuts scattered across his features, blood dried onto strands of his silvery blond hair.

Draco's head was bowed, his silver eyes glowing in the shadows of the cell, gazing up at her from beneath his lashes. His cracked pink lips screamed dehydration, his injuries obviously courtesy of the man outside the cell, but the silver swarmed with adoration and concern.

Clutching the tray tightly in her shaky hands, Octavia approached him steadily, her pace not faltering as their gazes remained connected. Slowly, he raised his head, never tearing his eyes from hers, until the back of skull rested on the stone wall he was chained to. Blonde hair, decorated with spots of blood, fell over his forehead, his molten silver eyes following her every move.

Gathering the scraps of bravery she did not possess, Octavia placed the tray of supplies on the ground next to his left leg, but didn't settle herself with it. She straightened herself, gazing down at him as he slowly spread his legs. Octavia stepped between his thighs, lowering herself to the damp ground, until she knelt right in front of him, his trouser-clad legs flanking her, their gazes never parting.

Octavia's proximity to Draco was caused by a mixture of strategy to retrieve information, as well as her burning desire to be close to him. Her body yearned to be near his, and she allowed herself that small sliver of agonising comfort, despite it sprouting from a foul place deep within her.

Draco watched her intently, unspeaking, totally silent, evidently not wishing to spook her into scurrying away or slapping him again. But she noticed that he pushed his body closer to hers, not much, but by an inch or so. Though, it was noticeable, given the clanking of the chains when he moved, and the meagre space between them.

Grabbing the moist glass of water from the tray, Octavia stuck the straw inside, holding it with two hands and raising it to his lips. Pushing his back from the wall, Draco leaned closer to her, his gaze never leaving hers, his cracked lips parting as he located the straw without difficulty. She watched as he drank slowly, her soul soothed by their close bodies, her heart aching and healing, her hands still trembling.

It was all very baffling for her. Meeting his gaze proved easier, yet harder than ever before. It shattered her mind and heart, yet put her soul back together again. It lulled her pain, washed away her woes, but struck fear and horror through her violently. A complete and utter contradiction of emotions swarmed inside of her, bubbling dangerously, threatening to spill over.

Anxiety pooled in tummy as he finished the last of the water, Octavia shifting to place the empty glass onto the tray. She picked up the piece of bread and brought it to his cracked lips, finally yanking her gaze away from his. As he ate the bread, she allowed her eyes to roam his bare chest, the shirt still unbuttoned from her previous visit. His abs were still decorated with the small silver scars, her brows furrowing as she inspected them. They were quite peculiar, as though they had been produced by a hundred papercuts. What was stranger, however, was that they were completely healed over, suggesting that the scars were years old.

If Draco didn't receive the marks from his time there at the abbey as a prisoner, then why did he have them at all? For over the past three years of the war, Draco had been at his home, presumably. He hadn't been tortured, attacked or hurt during battles. So who, at his home, would injure him in such a way? And for what reason? It was very curious.

A soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles hauled her out of her thoughts, Octavia flinching, yanking her hand away from his lips. Hazel sparkled with outrage, boring into hard silver, a glimmer of love in both of their gazes.

"Like what you see?" Draco whispered huskily, dehydration and exhaustion evident in his voice.

Octavia froze, unable to do anything but gape slightly at him, her heart shredding to scraps inside of her, her soul alighting at the sound of his voice. Emotion balled up, stuck in her throat, her lips parted as she gazed stupidly at him. She supressed the urge to sob, dismissed the impulse to throw herself at him, focusing only on her task and hatred, feeling the lingering sting of his betrayal, harnessing all of her attention onto the remains of the pain he had caused her.

"If you mean you, chained to a wall, getting what you deserve, then yes." Octavia lied venomously, resisted tears lacing her hoarse voice. "I like what I see."

Draco clenched his jaw, his eyes glowing with anger, swarming with hurt. Hazel flickered to his defined jawline, a flame of lust igniting in her core, her mouth suddenly dry. It was too dangerous, her being in that cell with him. That much was obvious in that moment, desire sparkling in her lively eyes, hatred consuming her, her fingers begging to touch him, her heart yearning for him.

"Why are you here, Octavia?" Draco asked gravelly, his voice quiet, filled with longing.

"You asked me to be here," Octavia whispered, suddenly unsure of herself.

Did he not want her here? Did he not want to see her? Was she the only one consumed with love for the other? The mere prospect threatened to bring tears to her anguished eyes, her lips pressing together, her gaze locked with his.

"Is that why you came?" Draco croaked, hard silver turning to stone, slivers of hurt visible in the cracks. "Because you were ordered to?"

"Why else would I be here?" Octavia sniffed, flicking her curls over her shoulder.

She snatched an apple from the tray, averting her eyes to her hand as she brought it to his lips. He didn't take it. His lips remained shut, his stare boring into her, but she snubbed his efforts to catch her gaze.

"Look at me, Octavia," Draco whispered roughly. "Look at me."

That did it. The sheer agony in his voice had her crumbling before him like the pathetic girl she was. Her face scrunched up, tears clouded her vision, her body stilling before it jerked, a wretched sob escaping her pale lips. Dropping the apple to his lap, Octavia buried her face in her hands, her body wracked with violent sobs, her palms attempting to muffle the horrid sounds of heartbreak.

Draco moved closer to her, as much as the chains would allow. A fresh wave of anguish washed over her as she felt his forehead rest against the top of her head, a silent gesture of comfort as she sobbed like a child. The feel of his body touching hers, even if it was just his forehead, caused ripples of love and repulsion to creep over her. Mind swarmed with memories of Draco comforting her years ago, and Octavia couldn't help but relish in the calmness it brought her.

All brutal realities of her life dispersed, and only she existed with Draco. There was no war or opposing sides. There was no wrong or right, good or evil. There was only Draco and Octavia, his forehead resting against hers, the sobs wracking her body, her havoc of emotions soothed by his presence.

Draco had always possessed this power over her, since the moment she allowed him to love her. He held the power to brush and soothe away her pain, replacing it with comfort and love.

Timidly, Octavia scooted closer to him, her body trembling and jerking with the sobs plaguing her, her face nuzzling against his neck. She didn't feel the damp blood that now coated parts of her face, for she only felt his face bury into her curls. Sitting up on her knees, her back curved awkwardly as she nuzzled against him, feeling his nose brush through her curls.

It was horrible what she was doing. It was repulsive and sickening, seeking comfort in a monster of a man. But if it was so wrong, how could it feel so right? How could she feel complete, repaired and, dare she say, happy?

"I love you, Octavia," Draco whispered hoarsely, her heart repairing piece by piece at the beautiful words she didn't know she longed to hear. "I have never stopped loving you."

"I love you too," Octavia mouthed, unable to say the words, but feeling them entirely.

A sliver of awareness crept into her dazed mind, threatening to shatter the blissful fantasy she resided in. But Draco wasn't about to let her pull away so quickly. His head bowed and turned, his lips brushing over her temple, warm wisps of peppermint breath tickling her skin. Fleetingly, she wondered how he could still smell like peppermint, for he had been in a cell for close to two weeks, but the thought evaporated the moment he kissed her protruding cheekbone.

Octavia's cheekbones had always been slightly visible, back in her healthy state, but now the hollow cheeks beneath them enhanced their visibility, providing her with a gaunt appearance. But he didn't seem to care in that moment, planting lingering chaste kisses over the bone, her eyes fluttering shut as her heart soared and clenched.

Her face turned ever so slowly to meet his, their skin brushing together, time standing still. They weren't in the dungeons anymore, but in their very own secret classroom back at Hogwarts, both students, in their teens, blissfully unaware of the darkness ahead that would separate them. Noses grazed over cheeks, shaky breaths brushed over skin, lips slowly seeking the other out, desperate to reconnect, feeling the ghost of past kisses tingling on the plump features.

Nothing could be heard, except the ringing in their ears and one another's breaths. Nothing could be seen, but pale smooth skin, splotches of blood, scattered scars. Their eyes shut in blissful serenity as their lips finally met, barely touching, alight with tingling nerves and anticipation. Draco, unable to move closer due to his restraints, waited with bated breaths, his soul yearning for hers, reaching out, grasping at the thick tense air, desperate for her lips on his.

Without warning, Octavia pushed her lips against his, a stifled groan escaping his mouth, a whimper from hers. Her arms flew around his neck, latching onto him tightly, her legs scrambling to straddle him. Their tongues instantly connected, tangling and twisting, the soft plump skin of their lips smashed together, their souls alight with passion.

For the first time in three years, Octavia felt whole again.

Straddling him, arms wrapped around his neck, Octavia pushed against him, his back and head pressed into the rough stone wall, but he didn't feel the pain that came with the harsh pressure. He only felt her body on his, her warm tongue slipping over his, massaging, caressing, love whipping around them unrestrained. Blood coated his handsome features, tears soaking her gaunt cheeks, the combination of the metallic and salty tastes invading their kiss, but not tainting it. They only tasted each other, whispers of past flavours invading their senses, peppermint and strawberry that neither possessed in that moment.

So lost in his kiss, Octavia didn't feel the hardness pressed against her core, but only the feel of his tongue caressing hers. She felt only the tenderness in their kiss, the raw love and need, years of agony washed away in a single moment. But their bliss was short-lived, interrupted prematurely, bringing Octavia crashing back to reality.

Not by Ron were they interrupted, but by her own mind. The mind that had been numb and cloudy, filled only with love and adoration, now screamed at her, self-hatred trickling through her veins.

Octavia pulled away from him, scrambling backwards, stopping at his knees, her eyes wide, filled to the brim with horror. Her chest heaved, rising and falling, her swollen pale lips parted as she breathed sharply.

Draco licked his lips slowly, savouring her taste, his glowing silver eyes boring into her wide hazel orbs. The triumph, raw desperation and love shone in his silver eyes, but she forced herself to not fall victim again. The prevalent self-loathing ensured it.

"Ask me," Draco said huskily, his head bowed as he gazed at her from beneath his lashes.

"Wha-wh-at?" Octavia stuttered, shocked by her own actions, horrified at herself.

"Ask what you were sent to ask," Draco whispered, his voice thick with lust, eyes glowing with affection.

"I – I, uh …" Octavia frowned, perplexed as to how he could be so calm.

Was she the only one submerged in total humiliation and shame? Was she the only one who longed to kiss the other again, but swearing to never allow such ugliness to occur?

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" Draco croaked. "You were ordered to visit me for information, no?"

"Why are …" Octavia frowned, shuffling around to sit on her knees. "Why are you saying this? Are you _offering_ to give me information?"

"I am," Draco smirked.

"Why?"

"Do you not want answers?" Draco replied, arching his perfectly sculpted brow.

"Well, yeah," Octavia frowned. "But–"

"Then ask me."

Octavia glanced over her shoulder to the barred door of the cell before swiftly returning her gaze to Draco's. It was so dangerous being in there with him, locked inside, alone with the devil she loved. That much was evident when she had thrown herself at him like some pathetic harlot without a moral compass. Perhaps that is what she was. But, then again, love did wild things to people. It made her crazy and weak, yet she didn't leave. She stayed, gazing into his dangerously brilliant eyes, frightened, but excited, terrified, but enthralled.

"Ok," Octavia breathed after a moment, Draco smirking deviously. "What do you know of the prophecy?"

Draco slowly raised his head, suddenly seeming very tall in comparison to her frail frame. Octavia swallowed thickly as he kept his stare on hers, his head leaning back against the wall, eyes looking down at her, lips twisted into a fading smirk.

"Lords will rule the earth, controlling a hierarchy based on magical strength," Draco drawled, his tone suddenly void of emotion. "Blood means nothing anymore, but power is what determines your place in the world. No matter what you are, witches, goblins, centaurs, the new world order applies. The deserving magical folk will be respected, those inferior will submit or perish."

"I'm inferior," Octavia whispered, her brows knitted together in hurt. "I have no power, and I'm terrible at magic. Does that mean I'm scum, Draco? Does that mean I'll die?"

"No. You are more powerful and extraordinary than you can possibly imagine," Draco smirked. "Your power is not in your wand, but in your soul."

"What does that mean?" Octavia frowned.

A bang sounded at the cell door, causing it to vibrate in its hinges, catching Octavia's attention instantly. She glanced over her shoulder, biting her bottom lip anxiously before returning her gaze to a now-stoic Draco.

"What does that mean, Draco?" Octavia repeated, her tone hushed.

"Time's up!" Ron barked.

The sound of the clanking lock rang in her ears, the door screeching open, but Octavia didn't move. She knelt in front of Draco, their gazes connected, her lips still tingling from their kiss, her mind mush.

"Until next time," Draco whispered, leaning closer to her, their noses a mere inch apart as Ron stood in the doorway. "My love."


	5. Chapter 5

Scattered coughs scraped at the silence, occasional rustling of robes as some shifted in their seats, chairs creaking, paper crinkling. Octavia sat on the edge of a cabinet against the wall, having arrived too late – but still early – for a seat at the long table. Order members from all around Britain occupied the room, some returning prematurely from missions, others coming out of hiding, a handful dismissing their undercover Death Eater duties for the night.

There weren't many Order members that hid amongst the Death Eaters, only three. They proved to have value in their double-agent lifestyles, at times able to inform the Order of patrol schedules at the Ministry or Diagon Alley. It was with a particular double-agent's help – Lee Jordan – that the core Order members were able to evade capture on several occasions.

Still, with all members of the Order in that room at one time, Octavia had an awful realisation; their numbers had dwindled considerably. There used to be two hundred members, but now, only forty-six people resided in the room, each appearing more stressed than the last.

Molly had prepared copious amounts of snacks for the meeting, as many of the resistance lived out in nature, hiding in the forests, their primary mission to hunt and eradicate the Snatchers. So they were understandably hungrier than those who resided in the abbey. The snacks had cost three separate food runs, performed by three teams of two, but already, the food supply had been consumed entirely. Predominantly by the Snatcher-Hunters, of course. The undercover Death Eaters, whilst tired and stressed, were relatively healthy looking, evidently able to enjoy luxuries in their double-agent lifestyles.

Pansy snuck into the dining room, the creak of the door catching everyone's attention as the room remained thick with silence. But once everyone realised that it was not Sirius and Remus, they returned to their prior various tasks; picking dirt from their nails, fastening and unfastening their robes, shifting in their seats, running fingers through their hair, picking off invisible lint from their robes.

Pansy spotted Octavia on the cabinet after a moment, scurrying over, evidently uncomfortable at being a late arrival. As the brunette hopped up onto the cabinet, seating herself primly, Octavia offered her a tight smile in a gesture of greeting. The smile wasn't genuine, of course. It did not reach her apprehensive eyes, and appeared to be more of a thinning of the lips or a slight grimace. Like the smile one would offer to a passer-by on the street. Not a smile that one would give to her closest and most cherished friend.

Not a moment after Pansy got comfortable on the hard wood of the furniture piece, the door swung open, revealing the anxiously awaited duo. Remus and Sirius walked into the full-capacity dining room, the two swiftly approaching their designated seats at the long table. As they were two of the 'leaders' of sorts, they were entitled to chairs at the table, whilst the lesser important people, like Octavia and Pansy, made do with the harsh furniture.

"Excuse our tardiness," Remus addressed the room, once he and Sirius were settled. "Miss Parkinson informed us, only moments ago, of an extended vision regarding the prophecy."

Everyone in the room snapped their gazes to Pansy, Octavia raising her brows at the girl. It wasn't often that Pansy's vision was extended or richer in detail, so it was quite the unexpected revelation to be sure. Pansy smiled slightly in response before returning her attention to Remus.

"We have assessed the vision, which has been added to the prophecy sphere," Remus continued, regaining everyone's focus. "It demonstrates the same scene as with the Gryffindor Sword. For those who have yet to observe the prophecy, it merely shows two cloaked figures, one identifiable as Lord Potter, the other we assume to be Lord Voldemort. They are holding the Sword, or in this case a goblet, together."

"A goblet?" Hermione piped up, the thirst for knowledge shining in her honey brown eyes. "Was there anything inside the goblet, or any ascertainable features?"

"The goblet in the vision is overflowing with blood," Sirius answered, stress-wrinkles covering his face. "It's plain in design, made from solid gold."

"There appears to be engravings on the goblet, but the vision is too cloudy for us to know for certain what they are," Remus said. "What we do know, is that we need to get it before the Death Eaters do."

"How do we know they want it?" Cho asked. "We don't even know if they know about it."

"They do," Pansy stated firmly. "I could feel it. I could feel the desire and need for it."

"Great," Ron nodded. "So after we get the goblet, that we don't know the purpose of, we'll have the Sword and goblet, but no idea what to do with them."

"Right now our mission is to prevent these items from falling into the hands of the wrong people," Remus stated tersely. "In time, we hope to know the purpose of these items, but all we can do at present is stop the Death Eaters from getting them."

"What else was in the vision?" Neville asked curiously.

"Not much," Sirius replied. "As it's a fresh vision, it's relatively blurry, but we were able to make out the surroundings."

"And?" Lee prompted.

"It appeared to be the setting of the Hogwarts castle," Remus said wearily.

It was the same place that the Gryffindor Sword had been located, but it had been a very dangerous mission, almost costing Neville his life.

"It's nothing more than wreckage," Hannah Abbott said, one of the three undercover Death Eaters.

"Yes, but if it contains nothing of value, why is it constantly guarded?" Hermione retorted. "Are you not one of the very guards stationed at the castle?"

"I am," she nodded. "But we are not informed as to what we are guarding. We only know that Lord Potter expects it to be a place of return for members of the Order."

"Well, we have to go off the assumption that he knows," Arthur interjected. "In the case that he has Sybil Trelawney, he may be aware of the goblet. Perhaps he already knows about it, but not of its whereabouts. If he learns that it's in the rubble of Hogwarts, more guards will be stationed there, and perhaps even a search team of Death Eaters."

"Which makes it much more dangerous for us to attempt a mission for the goblet," Cedric said. "Maybe this is a mission we should not try."

"Or we should attempt it before they can." Remus countered. "The longer we wait, the more time we are giving them to learn what we know."

"Assuming that they don't already know." Dean Thomas reminded.

"It seems like a lot of maybes and guesses for a risky, and potentially fatal, mission." Madam Rosmerta said.

"Yes." Remus agreed. "But it could be far more dangerous to not try and retrieve the goblet, thereby leaving it in the possession of Lord Potter."

"For argument's sake," Hermione said. "Let's just say they have the same knowledge that we do. Wouldn't it be better for us to obtain the goblet, and keep it out of their hands? Even if we don't know what it's to be used for, we can all safely assume that it's nothing good, not for us at least. The more we interfere with their plans, the more sabotage we create. It may seem too risky to some of you, but that's what this war is. It's taking risks, putting our lives in danger, so that we can win this war. To win, we can't let them obtain possessions that could aid them in any way."

"A reminder," Remus added. "During the Hogwarts Battle, a diadem was taken from the castle, and used in a ritual. This ritual could be the very source of Lord Potter's power. What if the goblet is another object that he can channel powers from? We can't be certain, I know, but it is very possible."

"There will be no vote on this matter," Sirius declared. "We will be attempting a mission to receive the goblet, but we require volunteers. It is dangerous, yes, but potentially invaluable to our cause."

"I can gather schedules," Lee announced. "It'll be safer to retrieve the goblet on a night with allies on duty. It'll take me a few days, but I'll report back as quickly as I can."

The other undercover Death Eaters nodded in agreement, seemingly all conceding to the brewing plan.

"We'll need new prisoners," Cedric said. "The Death Eaters know that the ones we have are missing, so we can't use their appearances to go unnoticed."

"Leave that to me," Ginny smirked, notorious for capturing stray Death Eaters.

Ginny's methods generally consisted of the use of poly-juice potion to morph her appearance into that of a random muggle woman, generally of the beautiful variety. This allowed her to venture into the lesser populated areas of the magical world, such as Godric's Hollow or Horizont Alley, to seduce Death Eaters at bars or in the quieter streets. She would return with an unconscious prisoner within the hour. But this task was only employed when absolutely necessary, and this happened to be one of those occasions.

"What if it goes to hell like last time?" Ron asked, his moany voice bristling Octavia instantly. "There were only meant to be eight on duty last time, according to Parkinson. The only reason we ended up fighting was because more turned up."

"That can and may happen," Lee said. "When I'm on patrol, sometimes, not often, but sometimes, higher-ranking Death Eaters will turn up. They don't talk to us, other than ask a few questions here and there, but they seem to go about their own business."

"Why?" Hermione frowned. "Why would they randomly arrive at places they're not needed at?"

"We don't know," Hannah shrugged. "Like he said, they don't talk to us much. I can only assume that they are looking for traces of Order members. Malfoy's a big part of the random arrivals, so I think it had a lot to do with her."

The fake Death Eater inclined her head toward Octavia, the girl paling instantly. It was definitely uncomfortable to have everyone's eyes on you suddenly.

"You think he was hoping she would turn up?" Charlie Weasley frowned, unconvinced.

"Maybe," Hannah said unsurely. "He had teams of Snatchers hunting her specifically, but we all had orders that if she arrived at any of the restricted sites, we were to capture her, but not injure her."

"With Malfoy in our custody, there might be a lesser chance of other Death Eaters arriving unannounced," Charlie mused, drumming his fingers against the tabletop.

"Which brings us on to the next order of business," Sirius interjected. "Prisoner Draco Malfoy."

"It is a shared belief among some," Remus began, "to end the prisoner's life, as we have yet to draw any information out of him since his capture."

"That was less than two weeks ago," Bill Weasley piped up. "It'll take time to get anything out of him."

"Some don't believe that he will talk at all," Remus countered.

"We have something we can use," Lee said. "Send Octavia in."

"We have," Sirius informed.

"He won't talk under interrogation," Ron added. "But I think with more time I could break him."

"The only one that will break him is her," Lee countered.

Octavia frowned at the man, not sure what he meant. Was he suggesting that she should be the one to torture him? Surely not. She would die before she would agree to such horror, directed at any prisoner, let alone one she loved.

"I have to agree with those who believe it is best to remove Malfoy," Hannah said. "I've seen first-hand what he's capable of, and I truly do not believe that he will reveal any information to anyone. I even question that he is here against his will."

"Exactly!" Molly declared, nodding in agreement. "It is possible, even probable, that he willingly came as a prisoner to get to Octavia. I don't know how anyone could believe otherwise."

"He is a calculated man," Lee agreed. "I find it difficult to accept that two wizards were able to defeat him. And even if it were true, Malfoy would die before he would surrender."

"So we kill him," Hermione said, as though it was the simplest conclusion of all time. "We do it before he can fight back with whatever plan he has."

"Paranoia has the potential to thwart a valuable asset," Sirius said. "That's what is happening right here, right now. I understand that there are concerns regarding the danger of the prisoner, but fear is warping your mind in this matter. Malfoy is chained to the wall, in locked cell, in a guarded dungeon. There is no way he can escape, so while I am sympathetic to your fears, I do not think they are justified."

"How is he valuable?" Molly snapped. "He hasn't spoken a word, except her name."

"He spoke today," Octavia whispered, so quietly that it almost went unheard.

In all her life, Octavia had never felt such self-hatred than she did in that very moment. She was actively attempting to save a cruel man's life; a man who had taken the lives of so many innocents, for reasons she couldn't fathom. But how could she stand by and let a mob with pitch-forks and torches kill the man she loved, even if he was a despicable excuse for a human being? She couldn't. For the man she loved was still in there, deep down inside of him, it existed, she was sure of it. And maybe, just maybe, she could bring him back to her.

Perhaps it was a foolish hope to harbour, but it was all she had. It was the only sliver of happiness in her miserable life. The mere thought of having her Draco back blinded her with overwhelming love, submerging her in a fantasy land. So much so, that she didn't even think of what it would be like if she was successful. For even if he changed for her, he would still be the man who had done horrendous, unspeakable things. And Octavia could not forgive those acts. But she was too distracted by her fanciful hopes to acknowledge the ugly truth in it all.

"What did he say?" Sirius asked, pulling her out of her reverie.

"Not a lot," Octavia admitted reluctantly. "But keep in mind that this was only my third visit to him, so he could possibly say more in future. I asked him about the prophecy, and … well, he said what we already know, I suppose. He said that Lords will rule the world–"

"He said _Lords_?" Charlie interrupted. "As in plural?"

"Yeah," Octavia nodded.

"We hear that at times," Lee disclosed. "In the rumours that circulate the lower ranks. We hear stories about Lord Potter and another."

"The other is Voldemort," Sirius explained. "A piece of him resides in Harry; that's why there are two cloaked figures in the prophecy, and that's what is meant by 'Lords'. We already know this."

"But in the rumours," Lee argued, "there is talk of another Lord. One that hasn't risen yet, but will. According to the rumours, when the two Lords rise, in full power together, their side will win and they will be unstoppable."

"Rumours are not prophecies," Remus countered. "In the prophecy, it says 'Born of soul, and born of blood.' Harry has the piece of Voldemort's soul inside of him, and he was born of blood with the massacre of his parents. 'Two halves of a whole' is Harry and Voldemort combined. The prophecy says it."

"The prophecy says what is says," Lee retorted. "It is how we are interpreting it that matters. What if we're looking at it wrong?"

"How else could two Lords be born of blood and soul, and be two halves of one?" Sirius quirked his brow.

Lee Jordan didn't respond, and instead, reclined against the wall, falling silent.

"What else did he say?" Remus asked, turning his attention to the sickly Octavia.

"That power is valued over blood," Octavia shrugged. "The weaker magical folk will be at the bottom, and the stronger ones at the top. House-elves, giants, centaurs, wizards and witches, all of them. A new world with a pecking order. Harry is pretty much Voldemort, but swapping out muggle-borns and replacing them with the weaker of us."

"Nothing we don't already know," Ron grumbled bitterly.

"I said that," Octavia snapped. "I said that we already know the information he told me. But it's a start, isn't it? He's speaking now, and I could maybe get more out of him if we keep him alive."

Hermione shot her a look of utter surprise at that. Even Pansy tensed beside her, evidently shocked at her attempt to argue for Draco's survival. It had been an accepted assumption that Octavia supported Hermione's side in the clashing beliefs, but of course, no one had actually asked Octavia for her opinion. So if they were shocked and surprised, it was only their own faults for assuming they knew her stand in the matter. If they had asked her, treated her like a person with opinions, then they wouldn't be resembling gaping fish in that moment.

"Nothing more?" Remus pressed, eyeing her suspiciously. "That is all he said?"

Octavia puckered her lips, her gaze averting to her legs as she fidgeted her feet together nervously.

"I … uh, I mentioned to him that … well, I'm not the best at magic," Octavia muttered, her cheeks rosy at the embarrassing confession. "I'm not exactly a great witch, so I said that and … well, he said that I am stronger than I know and … that's it, really. He went quiet after that."

"So he's bending the rules he kills for in his own favour," Ron scoffed. "What a surprise."

"Voldemort was a hypocrite too," Hermione added. "A half-blood supporting blood purity, killing muggles and muggle-borns for apparently being inferior."

"Great, so we've learned that Malfoy's a hypocrite, picking and choosing what he believes to his own advantage." Ron groaned. "But that's more than what he's said since he was brought here, so we have progress. Still, it doesn't change what we're here to do. We're here to vote."

Octavia narrowed her eyes at the infuriating red-head, loathing him to her core. She knew all too well what he was doing; Ron had used the opportunity to twist the situation in his favour. Now that Octavia had revealed information that Draco had divulged, he knew that most Order members would be inclined to keep him alive in case he revealed further information. But Octavia and Ron were on the same side in regards to a delaying a premature death for Draco, so she remained silent.

"All those in favour of removing prisoner Draco Malfoy permanently," Remus said, glancing around the room, "raise your hands."

A total of seventeen hands raised in the air, Octavia exhaling a breath she didn't know she was holding. It was a close, for there were forty-six people in that room, but it was enough.

"All those in favour of keeping prisoner Draco Malfoy alive," Remus said.

The other twenty-nine people, including Octavia, raised their hands, winning and securing the life of the prisoner. Octavia noticed, however, that Pansy had timidly raised her own hand, the brunette averting her gaze from the furious Hermione seated at the table.

Octavia shot Pansy a curious look, her brows knitted together, forming a crease that spoke of her bewildered state. Pansy hadn't specified her opinion on Draco remaining in the dungeons, but Octavia had assumed that she would want him dead. Suddenly, she realised; Octavia had been resenting her friend for not asking her for her own opinion regarding the matter, but had not done the same for Pansy.

It wasn't a realisation of guilt, but of horror. For with Pansy and Octavia voting to keep Draco alive, it meant only one thing. They were unwilling to let go of the past and the relationships within it.

A potentially dangerous realisation.


	6. Chapter 6

The wand clasped firmly in her hand didn't offer the same tingle of magic that her first wand had provided. Unlike her first wand, purchased at Ollivander's almost ten years ago, this one was brown, crooked and nowhere near as elegant. Sometimes Octavia missed her old wand, and its beauty, but she didn't feel lost without it. The wand currently in her possession performed the same precarious magic as the original, and failed her just as much. Regardless, she stuffed it into the pocket of her black Death Eater robes, courtesy of the new additions to the dungeons.

After the Order meeting, four days ago, Lee Jordan had returned briefly with the patrol schedule at the Hogwarts site. Ginny had returned from her mission each morning, levitating an unconscious Death Eater or two with her. All up, they had six new prisoners, allowing six people to venture out under disguises to the current mission; to retrieve the goblet from the castle wreckage.

Volunteers were required for the mission, and as Hermione had chosen to go, Octavia offered her assistance too. She felt better accompanying her cousin on a dangerous mission, as opposed to wandering the abbey for hours, anxiously awaiting Hermione's return. Still, the anxiety existed within her, brewing and bubbling, sending jolts of adrenaline through her veins, trickling down her spine to her tailbone. But it was too late to back out now, even though she wanted to.

A part of Octavia didn't wish to leave Draco with the others in the abbey, fearing for his fate. Ron was a loose cannon, and Sirius's failure with Harry was essentially driving him mad. But Remus and Molly also stayed at the abbey, so Octavia took a little comfort in that. Then again, Molly was of the belief that Draco should be killed, whereas Ron and Sirius wished to keep him alive, for the sole purpose of torturing him daily. Was that a worse fate than death? To be tortured, cruciod, hexed, day in, day out? Yes. But Octavia was a selfish girl and couldn't stand the thought of Draco's death.

George Weasley handed Octavia a silver mask, pulling her out of her dread-filled reverie. As she slipped it onto her face, concealing the weariness etched onto her features, her mind couldn't help but be swarmed with images of Draco. She was almost excited for that evening, as she was set to visit him again. The shame of her longing for Draco still existed within her, but had nearly been drowned out entirely by her selfish desires. She wanted to touch him again, to feel whole and complete.

A guilty pleasure in a world void of happiness.

But that twisted pleasure would have to wait.

"Now, you're sure that everything's organised?" Molly fussed anxiously, buttoning up George's robes. "You have everything you need, right?"

Octavia couldn't see the twin's face behind the Death Eater mask he wore, but she would bet galleons she didn't have that he was rolling his eyes. She would have won.

"Yes, mum," George's voice droned, weakly attempting to shimmy away from Molly.

"Don't use that tone with me, George Weasley." Molly scolded, yet continued to fuss over him, albeit, a little more sternly than before.

"I'm Fred," George lied.

"I'm George," Fred fibbed, slipping on his hood.

"Honestly, mum," George teased.

Molly glanced between the two twins, both concealed with hoods and masks, evidently unsure of herself.

Octavia tuned out of the intentionally humorous interaction, not finding it funny in the slightest. Perhaps her sense of humour had died in the Hogwarts Battle, replaced only with fear, horror and anxiety.

"Everyone, listen up!" Cedric hollered, gaining the attention of all persons in the room. "We have exactly one hour before the poly-juice potion wears off, and at the end of that hour, a shift change will take place at the castle. We need to get the goblet before that happens, so no messing about. Should anything happen, we will separate into two groups. Hermione, Octavia and myself in one, Fred, George and Bill in the other. We will all apparate to the separate portkeys in London _individually_ , understood?"

Everyone nodded their heads, except Octavia. That rule didn't apply to her, for she was unable to apparate. Therefore, she was already assigned to Hermione for side-along apparation.

"Do not take the portkeys if you are followed," Cedric declared authoritatively. "Stick together, have each other's backs, and we'll get all return in one piece."

Everyone in on the mission pulled out their assigned flasks of poly-juice potion at the close of the speech. Octavia's poly-juice potion would transform her body and face into that of Astoria Greengrass; a silly girl, much like Octavia, with a similar build, allowing O to wear her regular clothing.

Gulps and swallows sounded out around the kitchen, all six of them pouring the repulsive sludgy liquid down the mouth gaps of their masks. Supressing a shudder, Octavia couldn't help but grimace at the essence of Astoria, finding the flavour to be surprisingly sour. If anything, Octavia had expected a sweet and bitter taste, but it was as though she was downing a thick smoothie of moulded lemons and rotten apples. It was absolutely disgusting.

Her skin began to tremble and crawl, tingles erupting all over her as her body took the form of another's. As she changed into Astoria, she couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the girl down in the dungeons.

Astoria wasn't exactly an extraordinary witch; not like Hermione, at least. But she wasn't necessarily weak either. Therefore, she was a low-ranking Death Eater, joining a side she probably didn't truly support for survival. The poor girl had found herself in an army that had actually been the cause of her own sister's death. Whilst Daphne wasn't precisely targeted in the Hogwarts Battle, her life had been collateral in an explosion in the Slytherin common room. Octavia couldn't help but feel great bouts of sympathy for Astoria, for she now supported – potentially with reluctance – a side that had been the reason her sister had perished. And now, she was tied up in the dungeons, because she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The agonising stab of pain in her legs pulled her back to the present, the final transformations taking place. Bones vibrated, morphed and lengthened, slight curves in all the right places filling her once baggy attire. Her boots tightened a little, her feet stretching out, growing marginally, but enough to cause her minor discomfort. Breasts filled and lifted, the ample mounds spilling over the bra she wore. Octavia had almost forgotten what it felt like to have full breasts, and wondered if it would be sexual assault if she were to touch them.

Deciding against it, Octavia returned her attention to Cedric as he herded everyone out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the front door. The six fake Death Eaters poured out of the house, a few others standing in the doorway, Molly waving goodbye anxiously, shouting out words of caution to her three children.

Hermione and Octavia walked side by side down the snowy landscape of the abbey, Cedric leading the way, the three Weasleys behind them. Staying in formation of the two groups, they plodded through the thick layers of snow until they reached the invisible barrier of the wards. Once through the wards, they were then able to apparate, Octavia's hand latching firmly onto Hermione's wrist.

Without warning, Octavia was shoved through space, feeling as though she had been compressed into a tiny toothpaste tube, squeezed out of the opening, nausea washing over her. It was a ghastly sensation to be sure, but a necessary one. And it was certainly better than travelling by portkey, which had Octavia feeling dizzy for hours on end. At least with apparation the awful effects lasted mere moments, not hours, sometimes days.

Grunts, thuds and cracks ripped through the air as the six Order members landed effortlessly in the concealment of the Dark Forest, surrounded by trees and nature. They waited only a moment for Cedric to give the nod of permission before they straightened out their robes and trekked through the woods.

As they had apparated fairly deep into the forest, it took them almost fifteen minutes of hurried trudging to reach the border of the woods. While this severely impacted their time allotment with their temporary disguises, it was necessary. The Death Eaters had set up wards of their own around the castle, causing apparations to only occur in the depths of the Forbidden Forest.

Once they exited the dense cluster of trees and boulders, the six remained confident in their walks, marching over to the wreckage ahead. Eight Death Eaters were on duty that day, but the site of rubble was so vast, much like the castle had once been, that they were scattered around, patrolling individually. As they neared, they noticed that the Death Eater in sight wasn't even patrolling, but practicing a patronus charm out of boredom. According to the schedule they had received, that very Death Eater was Vincent Crabbe.

A thick and burly man with no grand magical capacity to respect. So how he was still alive, and not regarded as the 'lesser' magical beings that Lord Potter wanted eradicated, was simply beyond Octavia. Although, it was likely that exceptions were made during the war for the sole purpose of adding strength to the Death Eater army.

Crabbe noticed them after a while, his dim-witted mind no longer distracted by the silvery vapour in the shape of a sheep.

"Oi!" Crabbe bellowed as the six cloaked figures approached.

None of the disguised Death Eaters faltered, all employing confident demeanours, maintaining a façade that they belonged there.

"Oi, where you goin'?" Crabbe yelled, jogging over to them, his robes tangling around his chunky legs. "Stop! Reveal yourselves!"

None followed his command except Cedric, the former Hufflepuff leading the way as he pushed off his mask, the silver object resting atop his head.

"Oh … I … uh, sorry, sir, I uh – Didn't know you were comin' today," mumbled Crabbe, nervously backing away from the approaching Death Eaters. "I thought it was just–"

"Return to your station!" snapped Cedric, his face that of Yaxley's.

Crabbe nodded, evidently grateful for not being subjected to the cruciatus curse, scurrying back over to his previous spot. Yaxley was a well-known Death Eater, respected, high-ranking, and a crucio-enthusiast. He was certainly a prime identity to employ for such missions.

Obediently, Octavia fell into step behind Cedric, their formation one of ranks, lest they had to reveal their faux identifies again. Bill and the twins flanked Hermione and Octavia behind Cedric, the six of them remaining silent as they trekked through the thick crisp snow toward the rubble.

Hermione's research had brought them to the assumption that the goblet they sought was, in fact, the Hufflepuff Cup. That assumption had been verified when Pansy was shown a sketch of the Cup in _Hogwarts A History_ , confirming that it was the goblet in her visions. Fortunately, that narrowed their search down to the area of debris that had once been the Hufflepuff basement.

Of course, the Cup could have been anywhere in the castle, but it made sense to start in the very part of the castle that had direct ties to the object they sought. Still, they had decided to split up into their two groups around the designated area, to hopefully cut their search time in half.

Separating into two groups of three without a word, the Order members remained silent as they slipped out their wands. Cedric was the first to cast a muttered _Accio_ spell, but as expected, it had no effect, much like with the Gryffindor Sword. It was safe to assume that the Death Eater wards prevented such spells from working, but it was possible that the ancient artefact wouldn't be summoned by the spell.

No matter. They had a back-up plan. One that generally consisted of riffling through the debris, unfortunately.

Sighing heavily, Octavia pulled on Astoria's black leather gloves, flexing her fingers to ensure a snug fit, the others doing the same.

"Time check," Hermione announced to Cedric and Octavia as they climbed up the unsteady rubble. "Forty minutes left."

Octavia nodded as she held out her arms, trying to balance herself whilst climbing up the boulders and rough shards of stone. As she reached the top of one particularly low mound, she couldn't help but feel sorrow at her surroundings. The castle she had once called her home was gone, only a mass of debris left in its wake. She had essentially grown up in in what the castle had once been, but due to the Battle, it had been destroyed, demolished and burned to the ground.

"This is impossible," Cedric grunted, shifting a huge boulder by use of his wand. "We'll never find it like this."

"Just keep trying," Hermione said, almost slipping down the pile of rocks. "They found the Sword like this, so it's not impossible; it's improbable."

Octavia glanced around them, seeing a few Death Eaters far in the distance, doing their patrols, not paying them any mind. Perhaps it was a regular occurrence for Death Eaters to search through the rubble? But what would they be looking for? The Order of the Phoenix was already in possession of the Sword, so it was likely that they ceased their searches upon that discovery. Although, the Death Eaters could still be searching, perhaps for the very object that she was looking for in that moment. If they knew about the Hufflepuff Cup, that is.

"Where are they going?" Hermione huffed, tossing a rock down the hill as she inclined her head further down the mass of wreckage.

The three disguised Weasley brothers weren't searching through the rubble, but venturing further down, toward what used to be the North Wing. There was nothing of importance in that section of the debris, only what was left of the Charms classrooms and parts of the Divination Tower. Odd.

Octavia returned her attention to shifting rocks, a futile task, but they had no other option. Cedric and Hermione, however, continued to observe the Weasleys ahead, attempting to figure out why they had defied orders. They were meant to be riffling through the wreckage in the farthest part of the Hufflepuff debris, not venturing off into the distance.

"Wasn't Flitwick's office in that area?" Hermione frowned, the expression concealed by her mask.

Cedric nodded, recalling that his Head of House did in fact reside in the North Wing of the castle, closer to his classrooms than the Hufflepuff Basement.

"Good thinking," Cedric said before resuming his prior actions.

In silence, the three of them moved, pushed, levitated and kicked boulders away from the top of the hill, not watching as they crashed down onto the snowy ground. They worked hard and fast, perspiration breaking out over their malnourished bodies quickly, attempting to do as much as possible within their stingy timeframe.

If Octavia used her wand in an attempt to levitate the boulders, she would undoubtedly blast the wreckage to smithereens. Due to that dismal fact, Octavia had to employ her withering physical strength to complete her task, whilst pretending that she was using her wand. If the patrolling Death Eaters scattered around the perimeter noticed that she didn't use her wand, but kicked and shoved boulders, suspicions would definitely be peaked.

Fifteen minutes in, and Octavia was concerned that her arms would fall out of their sockets. They felt numb, yet heavy, aching horribly, much like her legs. But she resisted the urge to plop herself down and rest, instead continuing to kick and nudge debris out of the way. Her harsh breaths of exertion could be heart wheezing through the silver mask she wore, but neither Hermione or Cedric paid any attention to her exhaustion. They continued to hunt, levitating the larger rocks, kicking the smaller ones.

So far, they hadn't unearthed much, other than a few torn portraits, or what remained of them, at least. Shards of metal were found in the wreckage, presumably once belonging to the many statues in the castle before it had burned and blasted to nothing. It brought Octavia's thoughts to another matter, relating to what once occupied Hogwarts, but was nowhere to be seen. The ghosts.

Not a single silvery apparition was visible on the demolished landscape, but Octavia knew that they couldn't leave the grounds they occupied. Did they perish along with the castle? Or did they find happiness and move on from this awful world? She didn't know, and perhaps she would never know, but Octavia liked to believe that they all existed in the afterlife, finding peace and contentment in a place that the world didn't offer them.

"Time check," Cedric grunted, almost slipping down the hill of snowy rocks.

"Twenty minutes," Hermione sighed, pulling out a sneaker from the wreckage.

Octavia groaned as she struggled with a particularly heavy boulder, using all her weight to push against it. The time check wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear in that moment, for now she knew that they were already forty minutes into the hour-long mission without a splice of success. No leads, no discoveries, no hope. It would be a total failure.

Just as she was mentally preparing herself for the defeat, Fred's fake rough voice shouting out, the sound almost lost in the distance between the two trios.

"Ced-Yaxley!" Fred bellowed. "Yaxley, come here!"

"Idiots," Hermione grumbled as Cedric glanced over his shoulder at the Weasleys.

Octavia humphed in agreement, knowing that Hermione was referring to Fred's near slip of the tongue. Thankfully, he had caught himself before he could shout Cedric's real name. That could have been disastrous, and Octavia didn't really feel like dying that day.

"Keep searching," Cedric mumbled before carefully descending the snowy hill of stone.

Octavia puckered her lips in annoyance at his order, but followed the command regardless. It wasn't like Cedric had to move stones heavier than himself by hand or anything, right? Prat.

"I hope we have enough hot water for a bath tonight," Octavia grunted huffily, violently kicking an unmoving stone with the sole of her boot. "I swear to God, if Pansy's used up all the hot water, I'll lose my fucking mind."

"The girl likes her baths," Hermione droned, a twinge of annoyance in her tone.

"Yeah, so do I," Octavia sniffed, plopping herself down on her butt to fiercely kick out at the rigid boulder.

"We can boil the kettle a few times and fill the tub," Hermione suggested, effortlessly levitating the boulder Octavia was trying to destroy.

"Thanks," muttered O, scrambling to her feet.

"What is going on over there?" Hermione mused, staring across the grounds to the Weasleys and Cedric.

Octavia turned around, frowning at the foursome across the way, watching as they all knelt by something she couldn't see amidst the rubble. Cedric stuffed his wand into his pocket before tentatively extending his hand, his entire arm submerging within the debris. One of the Weasleys – she couldn't tell which one from the masks and cloaks – stood up, wand grasped tightly in his hand, glancing around at the oblivious patrolling Death Eaters. But his attention quickly snapped back to Cedric as he rose, using both hands to yank something out of the debris. After a few attempts, Cedric stumbled backwards, almost losing his balance and tumbling down the snowy slope, but another Weasley grabbed him before he could fall.

"Is that it?" Octavia asked, scrunching up her face in disappointment.

Cedric held a surprisingly small golden goblet in his hand, its size more of the souvenir variety, as opposed to an ancient artefact with great value. Surely it couldn't be the cup they sought.

"That's it," Hermione breathed. "They have it."

"You're joking," Octavia scoffed, disbelief lacing her tone.

There's no way it could be that easy. Nothing ever was. Not before the war, nor during. It couldn't be …

"Of course!" Hermione repeated, her tone filled with exhilaration. "A Gryffindor pulled out the Sword from the rubble, and a Hufflepuff pulled out the Cup. That's why the Death Eaters couldn't get either, right? They don't have any Gryffindors on their side, and very few Hufflepuffs. Oh, they're waving us over, let's go!"

Octavia nodded slowly, biting her bottom lip nervously. It just didn't seem right, but she couldn't deny what she saw. Cedric was indeed holding a goblet in his hand, stuffing it into the inside pocket of his Death Eater robes. Two of the Weasleys discreetly high-fived one another, the four of them seemingly victorious.

Frowning at the simplicity of it all, Octavia ignored the churning pit of unease in her tummy, and followed Hermione down the uneven slope of debris, careful not to slip on the sludgy snow. After a few moments, they both jumped off the slope and onto the grounds, ready to join the others and get the hell out of there.

Hermione and Octavia straightened out their robes, adjusted their masks, before turning in the direction of their companions. But they stopped dead in their tracks at what they saw, and heard.

Cedric and the Weasleys were all whipping out their wands in the direction of the Granger girls, the four of them safely down on the snowy grounds of the castle.

"OCTAVIA, WATCH OUT!"

"BEHIND YOU!"

Octavia knew. Amidst the dread that instantly washed over her, she fleetingly scolded herself for such idiocy.

Nothing was ever easy for them.


	7. Chapter 7

"OCTAVIA WATCH OUT!" Cedric roared, fear and adrenaline lacing his panicked voice.

"BEHIND YOU!" Fred bellowed, his voice drowned out by the shouts of the others.

Grabbing their wands, Octavia and Hermione whipped around, fear pumping through their veins manically. Octavia's heart almost stopped at what she saw, tears immediately welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill over and cloud her much-needed vision.

Blaise Zabini and Adrian Pucey stormed in their very direction, neither adoring Death Eater robes, clad in casual attire. They had evidently just apparated to the restricted site, and Octavia knew instantly that Crabbe had informed them of their presence. The burly Death Eater walked a little way behind the two high-ranking Death Eaters, his wand raised threateningly. All other patrolling guards had their attentions on the disguised Order members, every single one of them aware of the true identities of each cloaked person on the grounds.

It had been a trap. All of it. She knew it in her gut. From Crabbe allowing them passage, to being ignored whilst searching; the whole thing had been a setup. They knew they were coming. They knew and they waited, watching and observing. Only ready to attack once Cedric had retrieved the cup. But why? Octavia didn't have a moment to ponder that thought, for Blaise had raised his wand, grinning widely at her, danger whipping around him forebodingly.

Black eyes flashed with recognition, despite Octavia's appearance being concealed by the mask and robes. But Cedric had shouted her name, so Blaise knew she was there. He knew. She knew. But she couldn't move.

The breath had been caught from her throat by the sheer visible changes in the man she had once called her best friend. Hardness in his black eyes, cruelty in his grin, a familiar flicker of affection and horror igniting within her. The man striding toward her was not the man she had once known; he was something else altogether.

"Taaa-avs," Blaise sang, his arrogant voice piercing through the tense air. "I missed you."

Time no longer stood still – perhaps it didn't in the first place – and chaos ensued.

Suddenly, hexes and jinxes soared through the sky, wands whipping and waving ferociously, people diving out of the way, firing their own curses at their opponents. But who were the opponents? Everyone. No pair duelled, but everyone fought each other.

Octavia sent streams of fire through her wand at the approaching Death Eaters, Blaise deflecting it effortlessly as he laughed. Octavia and Hermione raced in the opposite direction, firing flames and hexes over their shoulders as they ran. They had presumably intended to reach the other Order members, but the Weasleys and Cedric had scattered in their own battle. Six Death Eaters came from the other end of the grounds, essentially trapping the Order members by the debris. Unless they ran straight down to the wizarding village, that is.

"Go to Hogsmeade!" Cedric shouted, firing hexes of his own.

Octavia grabbed Hermione's wrist and bolted down the snowy slope, leading the way as Hermione shot jinxes over her shoulder. Octavia didn't know if Hermione was hitting any of the Death Eaters with her spells, but daren't turn to check. If she ran, guiding the two of them, and Hermione fought, they had a chance.

Cedric's sprinting figure could be seen ahead, the Weasleys flanking him, running backwards, firing hex after hex to the oncoming Death Eaters. Cedric was the first priority. He had the cup, so he _had_ to return to the headquarters. He was the one who had to live. In saying that, Octavia's self-preservation skills kicked in, and she raced toward the foursome further down the slope, hoping to reach them. If she reached them, there was less of a chance that she or Hermione would be hit with one of the many green jets of light soaring through the air. Logically, the cup was their first priority, but Octavia's survival skills could not be reasoned with. Much like her heart.

Suddenly, Octavia was thrown off her feet as she was tackled to the frosty snow beneath, a grunt escaping her at the harsh impact. Bushy brown hair obscured her vision for a moment before she was yanked to her feet. Assuming that Hermione had tackled her out of the way of a curse, Octavia said nothing as she righted herself and resumed running for her life.

The rapid crunch of Hermione's swift footsteps echoed out beside her as they ran, hexes zipping right by them, never touching them. Cedric and the others could be seen ahead, nearing the gates that would take them to the village where they could apparate. But there could be more Death Eaters there, especially if they had already known about their arrival. If this truly was a trap, there would be hundreds of the army awaiting them in Hogsmeade. But it didn't matter. It was their only chance of escape. If they apparated quickly, they could possibly make it out of there alive.

Octavia's peripherals caught sight of two Death Eaters a few metres to her right, chasing after the Weasleys and Cedric, but not the Granger girls. It seemed like they had their own orders, split into two groups to separate them, herding them like cattle. Herding them right into the village.

"STOP!" Octavia shrieked at Cedric and the Weasleys. "IT'S A TRAP! DON'T GO TO THE VILLAGE!"

Cedric glanced over his shoulder, presumably at her, but he was quickly thrown off his feet by a green jet of light. His body lay motionless in the snow once he collided, the cup in his robe pocket.

"NO!" Octavia screeched, speeding right toward the man, face-down in the snow.

Was she the reason he had died? She had distracted him, and he was hit. It was her fault! She killed him.

Raising her wand, Octavia aimed it at the Death Eaters to her right as they continued to fire killing curses, but at the Weasleys instead.

" _Inferno!"_ Octavia screamed, fire blasting out of her wand, soaring right toward the pair.

Sprinting, with Hermione by her side, Octavia watched in horror as the fire engulfed the two Death Eaters, their screams of agony ripping through the air.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Tavs!" Blaise shouted, his hoarse voice much too close for comfort.

She had known he was chasing her, but hearing his voice made it all too real. It only increased her panic.

With new-found terror and adrenaline, Octavia picked up the pace to an impossible speed, not sparing a glance at the burning Death Eaters now out of her line of sight. They had stopped screaming, and the air was filled the putrid stench of singed flesh, so Octavia knew; she had killed them.

For the first time in her life, Octavia could honestly call herself a killer. It wasn't a title she had ever wanted.

"Keep going, O," Hermione panted roughly beside her, her voice weak and hoarse. "Don't stop, no matter what happens."

"Fuck that," Octavia grunted, her free hand snatching onto her cousin's robes. "We're getting out of here."

Octavia grabbed tightly onto Hermione's robes, employing the same tactic Hermione had done three years ago. She hauled them down the snowy slope, both Grangers screaming out before connecting harshly with the hard snow, rolling down the hill at a swift speed. Their grunts of pain couldn't be heard over the shouted hexes and screams of agony as they spiralled down the hill, right in the direction of Cedric's motionless body.

Hermione gasped as she landed on the corpse of Cedric Diggory, the pain of the landing evident in the gravelly groans that quickly followed. Octavia rolled to a stop a metre or so ahead, hurriedly scrambling to her fear, her mask skewed from the tumble. She whipped it off, revealing the face of Astoria Greengrass, glancing up at the angled slope she had just thrown herself down. Blaise ran down the hill, his black eyes fixed on her foreign face, Adrian right by his side.

Hermione riffled through Cedric's robes frantically, searching for the cup as Octavia aimed her wand at the approaching Italian she once adored. But she couldn't find it in her to kill him like she had done to the two other Death Eaters. So she did the next best thing and fired jinxes at him, hoping to knock him out cold, or debilitate him in some way.

" _Stupefy!_ " Octavia shouted, Blaise deflecting the red jet effortlessly. "Hurry up, Hermione! _Reducto!_ "

"I'm trying, I'm trying," Hermione responded nervously, scrambling through the pockets of the corpse, the pressure of the situation evident.

" _Protego!_ " Octavia shrieked, deflecting a hex from Blaise, stumbling back from its sheer strength. "THEY'RE COMING, HERMIONE! HURRY THE FUCK UP!"

"Got it!" Hermione shouted, stuffing a golden goblet into her pocket. "Go, go, go!"

" _Titillando_!" Octavia bellowed, firing a string of hexes at Adrian and Blaise.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, sprinting down the rest of the grounds to the village, Octavia deflecting nearing curses and hexes. Blaise propelled himself off the rest of the hill, landing in a crouching position right at Cedric's body, only a metre away from a panicked Octavia.

Octavia screeched and ran, following Hermione at a hurried pace down the hill, seeing only two of the Weasleys ahead. The third was nowhere in sight, but Octavia didn't stop to look. Blaise was hot on her heels, the nearing sound of his rapid footsteps coming much too close.

A shriek tore through her throat as she was thrown to the ground by a hard body, arms grabbing her wrists mid-fall. Her grunt was muffled by the snow as she landed face-down, wrestling with Blaise as he tried to pin her down. She squirmed, writhed, wriggled, kicked and screamed, but he was stronger.

His knee pressed into the small of her back, sending jolts of agony through her body, his nose touching the shell of her ear. His hot puffs of breath brushed over her skin as he held her down, footsteps bounding right by them, presumably Adrian chasing after Hermione. But Octavia couldn't lift her head to see, for the weight of Blaise's body atop hers was far too strong.

The feel of his lips twisting into a wide grin brushed over the skin of her ear, his hot breath coming out in harsh puffs of air from exertion.

"I won't hurt you, Tavs," Blaise purred, his dangerously low voice sending shivers of fear through her spine. "No need to be scared of me."

Mumbling her response into the snow, Octavia's words couldn't be heard, but she was sure that he got the general idea of it. Somewhere along the lines of 'you're a fucking arsehole'. From his laughter, she assumed that he did, in fact, suspect the gist of her response.

Hermione's scream tore through the air, causing a whimper to escape Octavia as she struggled with newfound vigour. He didn't budge, his knee pressing against her back, holding her down, his hands pinning her wrists above her head.

Octavia groaned as she felt her bones vibrate, the poly-juice potion wearing off at the worst moment possible. Not that they didn't already know of her true identity. A sharp gasp of pain couldn't be heard through the pressure of her face in the icy cold snow, her body jerking as her skin crawled visibly. All of a sudden, she began to writhe uncontrollably, groans of discomfort and pain shuddering through her. Bones decreased in size, quaking in their transformation, clothes loosening around the thinning frame that appeared. Smooth, silky blonde hair began to frizz and spiral into tight curls, black eyes watching intently as the familiar tresses appeared before him.

Suddenly, Blaise was thrown from her, his body flying through the air, landing several metres away in the snow. Struggling to fight through the pain of her body's transformation, Octavia scrambled to her feet, her knees buckling beneath her. Before she could fall to the ground, an unmasked Death Eater scooped her up into his arms and sprinted down the snowy path to the village. Her wobbling eyelids morphed, making it difficult to focus on the face of her saviour, but she noticed the blurry dreadlocks and chocolate brown skin. Lee Jordan.

Octavia groaned as her body jerked, the final stages of transformation taking place, her spine shrinking in size.

"I'm ok," Octavia breathed, squirming in his arms. "Put me down."

Lee skidded to a stop, placing her on her feet as they both gripped their wands tightly. Octavia glanced back up at the hill through the gates, seeing Blaise standing there, hands in his pockets, looking arrogant and nonchalant as ever. He wasn't aiming his wand at them, nor was he chasing them. Instead, he merely watched with a devious smirk, winking at her once. But before Octavia could even pay that peculiarity any thought, Lee had grabbed her arm and dragged her down the path at a rapid pace.

"Hannah's got Hermione," Lee panted as he sprinted down through the gates. "I can't see them – I think they've apparated already."

"What about the others?" Octavia gasped, a cramp clenching in her stomach from constantly running.

"Now!" Lee declared, hauling her over the threshold of the wards, apparating them with warning.

Octavia felt herself compress uncomfortably, her brain threatening to squeeze out through her eyeballs as she was pulled through space. The sensation lingered as they both landed on a stone ground in a heap, their limbs tangled and knotted together, groaning in pain from the harsh collision.

Grunting and moaning in agony, Lee and Octavia sluggishly disentangled themselves, laying on their backs in the middle of a dank alley in the streets of London.

"That was close," Lee breathed after a few moments, the pair of them gazing up at the gloomy sky.

"Yeah," Octavia whispered, unable to banish the sight of Blaise from her mind.

"Fred and George are dead," Lee panted. "They were killed by Dolohov. I tried to save them, but I couldn't reach them and …"

His voice trailed off, for he had nothing more to say. What could one say when their two best friends had just been murdered in front of their very eyes? Nothing.

"I killed two Death Eaters," Octavia admitted, laying limp on the ground, in a daze from the diming adrenaline. "They killed Cedric, so I just … did it."

"You had to," Lee assured, his words empty, unconvincing.

It's what they all told themselves to sleep at night. All in the Order who had killed; they assured themselves at night, in their beds, that they had no choice but to kill. It didn't make it any truer or falser, and it didn't take the horror of the reality away. But they lied to themselves all the same. Just like Octavia would do from that moment onwards.

"They knew," Lee breathed, his brows creased together. "I don't know how, but I saw Zabini watching you from the forest. They waited, and we had orders to not pay any attention to you guys until you had the Cup."

"You could've warned us," Octavia hissed.

"I tried waving to get your attention, but none of you even looked my way." Lee mumbled. "I managed to stop a curse from hitting Bill, but then it got Fred and … everything just happened so fast."

"Yeah," Octavia breathed, climbing to her feet. "Tell Sirius all about it. The portkey leaves soon."

Lee nodded as he got to his feet, both of them removing their Death Eater robes and tossing their masks onto the stone ground. They probably should have returned to the abbey with the disguises, should they be required again, but they didn't. For those robes were tainted. With awful memories and horrors.

Octavia never wanted to see them again.

* * *

It was so wrong. Everything about it was wrong, filthy, immoral and downright disgusting. But when she was there, in his cell, nothing else existed. Only Draco and Octavia lived in the world, a fantasy land, finding a slice of happiness in an otherwise miserable existence. Under a spell, he had her, from the moment she entered the damp cell. And in the spell, she remained, kneeling between his spread legs, her forehead resting against the dip of his collarbone.

Another near-silent inhale was heard as he breathed in her scent that no longer consisted strawberries. His face buried into the wild curls atop her head, his eyes closed blissfully, feeling her body against his. Octavia could have stayed like that for an eternity, seeking and finding comfort in the monster she loved. But time was scarce, and she had a task to attend to. Yet, she continued to melt against him like butter, putty in his chained hands, a slave to her prisoner.

"I killed people yesterday," Octavia whispered, wanting, needing to confide in him. He always made it better. He never failed to lull her agony into nothing but mere whispers of pain in another life. Until she departed the cell, that is. But for now, she was in the cell with him, feeling only his breath disturbing her curls.

"Why?" Draco asked gently, relishing in the feel of her tight tresses against his face.

"I don't know," Octavia breathed, her brows creasing against his collarbone.

It was the truth. She didn't know why she had killed them. They posed no immediate threat to her, for they were chasing others. But they had killed Cedric, so did that make it an act of revenge? One that she never thought herself capable of?

"Don't blame yourself, Octavia." Draco hushed after a moment.

"I did it with fire," Octavia whispered meekly. "Is that what you meant when you said I had power?"

"Yes."

"How … how do you know that?" Octavia mumbled.

"I've known for many years." Draco sighed into her hair. "You saved my life with that, in the tournament. The dragon aimed its fire at me, but it didn't touch me, because you didn't want it to. You are more powerful than you could ever dream, Octavia."

"But it killed them," Octavia croaked, the tears prickling at her eyes. "I didn't mean for it to kill them, but … it just did. I don't know why, but it happened, and … I'm … I'm not sorry."

"You had your reasons," Draco assured softly.

"Is that what you had?" Octavia mumbled hoarsely against his skin. "Reasons for killing people?"

"Yes." Draco said, placing a tender kiss atop her curls. "I had, and have, my reasons."

"What about when you betrayed me?" Octavia whispered, pulling away from him. Watery hazel gazed up at silver, both filled with adoration and dreamy worlds, but only hazel shining with hurt.

"I didn't betray you," Draco argued confidently, his clean face scattered with scars and bruises. "I lied to you, yes, but I never betrayed you."

"Yes, you did." Octavia frowned, tears rolling down her gaunt cheeks. "You betrayed me, and you broke my heart, Draco. You put me in danger that night at Hogwarts, and you … you brought Death Eaters into the school. You fight for something evil and endanger me by doing it."

"I never put you in danger," Draco growled, his silver eyes flashing. "No one is to touch you. You will never be harmed, Octavia."

"Why not?" Octavia bit. "I fight against you and what you stand for. We're on opposite sides of a war, Draco. I leave you here, chained to wall, and don't help you. So why not me? Why kill everyone I fight with, but protect me?"

"Because I love you," Draco growled, eyes burning with anger.

"No," Octavia shook her head. "It's because you think I'm powerful, isn't it? That's what you said. You said I have magic in my soul, not my wand. That I'm powerful, and that's why you pretend to love me, isn't it?"

Octavia flinched as he suddenly pulled against his chains, his face snapping towards hers, their noses touching ever so slightly. Even restrained, he had the power to intimidate her, something he couldn't do before the war. Perhaps it was the danger that emanated from his pores now, or the molten silver of his eyes.

"Don't question how I feel about you," Draco whispered dangerously, his lips nearing hers as he leaned forward. "I loved you long before I learned of your powers."

"What if I wasn't powerful?" Octavia scowled. "What then, Draco? Would I be _unworthy_? Would I be the scum you always told me I wasn't?"

"No," Draco hissed. "No matter your powers or blood, you are safe. Not a hair on your pretty little head will be touched, and I will always love you."

"What if I said that I don't love you?" Octavia retorted, almost choking on a sob that threatened to consume her. "What if I said that I hate you now?"

"I'd call you a liar," Draco breathed against her lips before slowly reclining against the wall. "A terrible one at that."

"I don't want to," Octavia whined, the tears taking over completely. "I don't want to love you. I want to hate you, I want you to be the man you were, but it won't happen, will it?"

"I am that man," Draco soothed. "I will always be that man, because it's a side of me that you bring out. Only for you, will I be that man. I just have other sides to me, like everyone else."

"No," Octavia hiccupped, wiping at her blotchy damp cheeks. "Not like everyone else, Draco. Not everyone wants to kill people and help someone rule the world. Not everyone wants what you're fighting for."

"You said you don't regret killing those people," Draco countered. "That's a part of you that lies deep in the darkest regions of your soul, yet I love you still. I love all of you; the bad and the good. Why can't you do the same for me?"

"Because it's not the same," Octavia blubbered, her vision almost totally obscured by incessant tears. "You're evil, and you do really bad things, but I didn't have a choice."

"Yes you did." Draco said softly. "You had a choice, and you made it. You killed them, Octavia, but I don't hate you for it. I accept that about you, and love even the darkest parts of your soul. Like I said, you had your reasons, and I have mine."

"Your reasons are bullshit!" Octavia snapped, her voice thick with tears.

"My reasons are my beliefs," Draco countered. "You may not like or agree with them, Octavia, but in time you will come to accept them."

"What're you talking about?" Octavia blubbered, scrunching up her face as she sobbed. "I'll never accept what you've done or what you believe. Not ever."

"You will," Draco hushed. "You don't see it now, but in time, you will. When that time comes, you won't feel the pain anymore. I'll make you so happy, Octavia, and we'll be together."

"We'll be together?" Octavia scoffed, snot trickling out of her nose as she sniffed. "You're mad, Draco. You're in a cell, we fight on opposite sides, I'll never support what you stand for, and I'll never accept what you do."

"I'll be patient with you," Draco said gently. "You only need time to see things my way, and I'll give that to you. If I have to wait an eternity, then that's what I'll do."

"What are you talking about?" Octavia snivelled. "You're not getting out of this cell, and I'll never, not ever, support this. _This_ – me and you – will never happen. It's over. It's been over for years."

"Is that why you come to me?" Draco whispered softly, his lips daring to twist into a smirk. "Is that why you dream about me at night, Octavia? Why you've never let another touch your body? When your hand wanders at night, who enters your mind? Whose touch do you dream of? It's me, Octavia, you dream and think of me."

Octavia gaped at the prisoner, their eyes connected as her cheeks flushed. Tears blotted over her face, a bubble of snot growing at her left nostril, but she didn't notice. She was far too distracted by his words.

He couldn't possibly know all of that. There's no way he could know that. He was guessing. Yes. Just a very, very accurate guess.

"It's not just you," Draco smirked. "I'd never let another touch me; I belong only to you. My dreams are always of you, Octavia. We're meant to be together, and we will be. When the time comes, you will see that, and I will be there every step of the way."

Octavia's face scrunched up as she shook her head, her curls brushing against her hollow cheeks at the movement. Draco leaned toward her, grazing his lips over her forehead as a sob escaped her, soothing her pain the best he could.

"In the end, it will all make sense," Draco whispered before a clang sounded out at the metal door.

"Time's up!" Ron barked, banging against the door.

Glancing over her shoulder at the creaking door as it opened, Octavia inhaled a shaky breath, trying to calm her rampant emotions. The tears in her eyes still leaked, but much less than before, given how confused she was.

Ron stood in the doorway, not hiding the disdain in his eyes as he glanced between the two on the damp ground. Octavia knew that he would report back to Sirius about the inappropriate closeness between the prisoner and captive. Draco's face was only a touch away from hers, and he made no move to pull away.

"Move," Ron snapped impatiently.

Octavia puckered her lips in annoyance, absolutely certain that the time allotment of forty minutes hadn't been used entirely. She was sure that Ron got some sick pleasure from interrupting her time with Draco prematurely. Or, perhaps, he was merely doing what was best for the Order. She was obviously cracking with Draco, and Ron likely harboured his own concerns regarding the precarious and complex relationship.

Pushing herself to her knees, Octavia grabbed the tray of used salves, an empty plate and a drained glass. She didn't look at Draco as she turned on her heels and stormed out of the cell, irritated beyond belief at Ron's entrance. If he had given her more time with Draco, she could have perhaps asked the questions she was sent to ask in the first place. Instead, she had concerned herself only with her own questions, forgetting all about her orders. Now she would have to explain that to Sirius, unfortunately.

Never a fun task.

* * *

The night was upon them, and most residents of the abbey were asleep, others out on missions. Missions that generally consisted of patrols around the grounds, as well as food runs and gathering medical provisions. The stillness of the abbey therefore allowed Octavia to sneak into the kitchen and steal some much needed hot chocolate with Pansy. The pair sat at the small chipped table against the wall, paralleled by the frost-covered window that should have provided a view of the grounds. Instead, it offered only a blur of white.

The two girls sipped from their mugs of hot coco, mostly concocted with boiling water, as opposed to the milk that they were running low on. If they stole any of the milk, Molly was sure to notice, so they played it safe and settled for a watery hot chocolate instead. Octavia had just informed Pansy of the conversation between herself and Draco earlier that day, but had yet to gain a response from her best friend. Pansy had only continued to sip the weak watery liquid in her mug, a pensive expression etched onto her stunning features.

Much like Octavia, Pansy's attractiveness had been tainted by near-starvation, stress, and the realities of war, but her piercing blue eyes shone brightly against her smooth pale skin, contrasted brilliantly with her brown hair, so dark that it was almost black. The girl was still a beauty, even after everything they had gone through, despite the stress lines that appeared at the corners of her eyes, and the hollowness of her cheeks. Perhaps Octavia felt a little jealous of Pansy's everlasting beauty, if only due to her own insecurities regarding Draco.

Yes, Draco had declared his undying love for her, but was her no longer pretty face enough for him? Did that even matter? Of course it didn't, but she couldn't help but wonder.

"He knew all this time," Pansy said, finally breaking her contemplative silence, "and he never told you. Doesn't that bother you?"

It took Octavia to realise that she was referring to her inability to control, yet sporadically produce fire.

"Oh, uh," Octavia hesitated, scrunching up her face as though concentrating intently.

Did it bother her? No, not really. But now she realised that it should infuriate her. Draco had known about her strange magic for six years, yet hadn't spoken a word about it to her. Didn't she have a right to know of her own magic? After all of her self-doubt and insecurities, he hadn't mentioned it until now. She should be angry, but she wants. Her mind and heart were preoccupied by his other words; words of love and promises that she feared would transpire.

"I guess," Octavia shrugged after a moment.

"This is Draco we're talking about," Pansy mused aloud, cupping her mug in her cold hands. "He doesn't do anything without calculated strategy. There's a reason he didn't tell you, but why now? Why admit that he knew about it now?"

"I dunno," Octavia shrugged again, hardly caring in that moment.

She just really wanted to talk about his declarations of love and happiness. She wanted Pansy to assure her that she would never surrender to him or her love for the man.

"I heard Ron talking to Sirius earlier," Pansy said slowly, connecting dots in her mind; dots that weren't visible to Octavia, and only served to confuse the blonde. "Maybe I was eavesdropping, but all the same, I overheard."

"Yeah, and?" Octavia prompted between gulps of warm beverage.

"Ron said that a few prisoners in the dungeons were laughing."

"Laughing?" Octavia repeated, scrunching up her face in confusion.

Octavia was confused for two very obvious reasons. One; what the hell would prisoners be laughing about? Two; what did this have to do with Draco's eternal love for her?

"Strange, isn't it?" Pansy nodded, the gesture answering her own question. "They've been starved, living on bare minimum scraps, tortured, chained up, some for months on end, and they're just sitting there, laughing."

"How many?"

"I think Ron said six," Pansy replied curiously. "He mentioned that Draco wasn't laughing, but he looked into his cell, and saw him smirking. As though they're all in on one big joke and we're not."

"That's not insanely creepy or anything," Octavia raised her brows, appearing suddenly uncomfortable.

"Right?" Pansy scoffed. "I think they're up to something. I _know_ they're up to something."

A chill ran up O's spine at the thought, Draco's words echoing in her mind, over and over again, taunting her. He had spoken as though he would leave the cell he was trapped in, but that wasn't possible. He had no wand, was chained up against the wall, the dungeon door was spelled shut and guarded at all times. But Octavia couldn't help but feel a churning pool of dread in the pit of her stomach.

"I told Hermione about it," Pansy informed, placing her mug back onto the decaying table top. "She wants to leave sooner than we first planned."

Octavia sighed heavily, not in surprise or shock, but dread. She had been expecting it, truth be told. Since the moment that Draco's life-span had been extended by the Order meeting, Octavia had waited each day for Hermione to announce their secret departure. Still; expecting it didn't make it any easier. Octavia didn't want to leave. For to leave, meant to give up her small scraps of time with Draco.

"Do you?" Octavia asked. "Do you want to leave?"

"Yes." Pansy nodded. "And no. I'm scared that, if we leave, they'll do horrible things to Draco. I know he's the enemy, but I can't wipe away my entire life of friendship with him."

"I know the feeling."

"No, you don't," Pansy smiled. "What you're feeling is more than I could possibly wrap my head around. I can't imagine how I'd feel if it was Harry in Draco's place. You're feeling a lot worse than I am, and I already feel like shit every day."

Octavia smiled at the level of understanding she received from her best friend. Talking to Pansy meant that Octavia could speak of the emotions she was ashamed of, because Pansy knew. She knew what she was going through, and harboured no judgement in the matter. If anything, she empathised.

"But if we don't leave," Pansy continued, her tone taking a serious turn, "I'm scared of the prisoners. I agree with Hermione; I think that Draco's here of his own free will, and he's just waiting to break out."

"Why wait?" Octavia sighed in exasperation, arguing this case for the countless time. "If he had the power to leave whenever he wanted to, why is he still here?"

"You." Pansy stated firmly.

"He could have taken me any time that I went down there, or even during the night." Octavia argued. "But he hasn't, because he can't."

"I don't think he's here to just kidnap you." Pansy frowned. "I think he's been using his time with you … I think he's been getting you to fall in love with him all over again before he takes you, so that it'll be easier for you when he does."

"Easier?!"

"Ok, wrong choice of word," Pansy acknowledged. "But if he kidnapped you when he first got here, he wouldn't have been able to appeal to your love, because you would only see him as your captor. But like this, he's the one that's held captive, and it hurts you, right?" – Octavia frowned, but nodded all the same – "So you go down there, you see him injured, starving and lonely. He tried to talk to you, and eventually you caved. Then you've kissed him, and you seek comfort with him, and now, you're lost. You don't see him as the enemy now, or a man who broke your heart. You see him as the man you once loved, and still love. He's put you in an inner battle, and he can use that to manipulate you. I think that was his plan all along."

Burying her face in her hands, Octavia couldn't help sense truth to the theory. If that had been his plan, it had worked. Maybe that's why the prisoners were laughing. Perhaps that is why he had waited to admit that he had known of her powers all along. It all came down to timing, and he knew the time was near. For she was breaking, and so very weak in his presence. He was winning.

"What's the plan?" Octavia whispered, dropping her hands to the table.

"Hermione wants to leave tomorrow night." Pansy said.

"Why not now?"

"We have to wait until Mad-Eye leaves the abbey. If we go when he's here, he'll know and ruin everything." Pansy explained. "He'll be out on an observational mission tomorrow after midnight, and won't return until the morning."

"Who's in on it?"

"Cedric was," Pansy breathed, a hint of sorrow in her tone. "Luna, Cho, me, you, Hermione, and Molly. Arthur is coming too, as well as Dean, Lavender and Parvati."

"It's not many," Octavia said worriedly. If they were going out to set up their own faction of the Order, they had to have numbers. Safety came in numbers.

"Bill might come," Pansy added. "Molly doesn't think he'll want to stay without his family, after what happened to the twins. Arthur asked Ginny, but she threatened to snitch on us to Ron, so he had to obliviate the conversation from her mind. Hermione is approaching Lee and Hannah tomorrow about it during patrol."

"How many's that?" Octavia frowned in concentration.

"If Lee and Hannah agree, then there will be thirteen." Pansy answered. "Not a lot, I know, but it's a start. We'll still communicate with headquarters through the radios, but we won't tell them where we are. It's just safer for us this way, with Sirius and Ron going the way they are."

"Hermione is just going to leave Ron behind, then?"

"Yeah," Pansy nodded. "She has to. He's losing it, and after the twins, he's not exactly reasonable anymore."

"But if we leave Draco here with Ron off the rails, it'll be horrible." Octavia whispered, possible scenarios flashing in her agonised mind.

"If we stay, Draco will take you, and Merlin knows what will happen then." Pansy countered.

"He won't hurt me," Octavia frowned, not appreciating the implication.

"I'm not saying that he will, I'm merely suggesting that we don't truly know him. Not like we thought we did, and who knows what he's capable of. Maybe he's angry that you left? He might see that as a betrayal. We really have to accept the fact that, while we love Draco in our own ways, he isn't the man we knew."

Despite being totally unconvinced, Octavia didn't respond. She would bet her life on Draco never hurting her, for even if she didn't know the ugliest parts of him, she knew the best parts, and they would never allow harm to come to her. Octavia truly did believe that he loved her like he claimed to, for she loved him just as deeply, and couldn't accept otherwise.

She was in love with the worst man of all. Octavia was madly, irrevocably in love with Draco Malfoy.

But that didn't make him the safe or right choice. So she made the much more difficult choice, that brought her excruciating heartache like she had never felt before.

"I'll come." Octavia whispered. "But … I need to see him again before we go. I need to say goodbye."

Pansy nodded, aware that Octavia wouldn't actually announce her departure to the prisoner, but merely needed a final memory with him. Even if it was tainted in heartache and the brutal realities of their differing lives.

Octavia needed closure.

"Tomorrow night, we can leave."

"Good," Pansy smiled. "Now about that hair of yours …"

Octavia's eyes widened comically, her lips parting as Pansy rose from the chair and strode over to the row of drawers.

"No, Pansy," Octavia whined childishly, watching as the brunette riffled through the drawers. "Leave it alone."

"Do you want to run around with split ends?" Pansy quirked her brow, successfully retrieving a pair of chunky kitchen scissors.

"I don't have split ends," Octavia scowled. "You have split ends."

"Yes, very mature, but you _do_ have split ends, and your hair is awfully dry." Pansy drawled, tossing the scissors onto the table. "I'll just take off a few inches. It's grown way too long."

"That's what you said to Lavender, and now she's bald." Octavia sassed.

"She's isn't bald," Pansy rolled her eyes, retrieving a towel from the nearby cabinet. "She asked for a bob, so I gave her one. It's not my fault she changed her mind when I'd already cut half of her hair off."

"That's comforting," Octavia grumbled, but knew she had no choice.

Since they were essentially about to live their lives on the run, out in nature, it was best that her hair be semi-manageable. One time, a couple of years ago, she had lost her hairbrush and used her fingers to comb the wild tresses instead. It only took a few weeks for the hair at the nape of her neck to become matted in a big tuft of curls, and Pansy was left with no choice but chop the clump off. Octavia didn't want a repeat of that, for it had taken her a whole year and a half to grow the hair back to normal length (midway down her back).

"Now," Pansy grinned, flicking out the towel before draping it around O's shoulders. "Let's sort this mess out, shall we?"


	8. Chapter 8

A dim orange glow was provided by the gas lamp on the floor, Octavia's bare feet a mere inch from the object. The sparse light from the lamp hardly offered enough illumination for the photograph she observed dazedly, but she didn't increase the light, as though afraid that it would reveal her secret. The secret that she and Pansy shared.

Among their meagre possessions was a photograph from Hogwarts of their Slytherin clique. Sometimes, when the abbey was quiet, and they were sure they wouldn't be interrupted, they would sneak the picture out of Pansy's pillowcase and gaze at it together. There was nothing wrong with possessing the photograph of their once close band of friends, but if others in the Order discovered it, the two girls would be subjected to an increase of judgement. They were already mistrusted and judged by some – not many, but a few – members of the Order, and didn't wish to worsen that.

Pansy and Octavia reclined against the cold stone wall, the photograph held up with O's slender fingers, at the tip of her bent knees. Neither girl could estimate a time period for which they had been staring at the photograph, but it had evidently been quite some time. When Octavia had awoken to Pansy snivelling over the photograph against the wall, the sun was only just rising over the landscape, reddening the dull cloudy skies. But now, the sun had risen, no more shades of pink or red painted through the now-grey sky, indicating that breakfast had come and gone, yet neither girl moved.

Hazel eyes lingered over the sandy-haired boy in the picture, welling up with tears as he laughed at something Blaise had said. His head threw back, his eyes crinkling, his lips spreading into a wide grin as his chest rumbled with laughter. Theo had been a joy to be around back at Hogwarts, always joking around, the playful one of the group. The nicer one. Not necessarily 'nice', but nicer than the rest.

As she watched the laughter repeat on a never-ending cycle, Octavia couldn't help but feel total despair. For he would laugh no longer. Perhaps Octavia harboured a molten pit of anger towards Remus for killing the boy she had once spent every day with. She knew that Theo had become a Death Eater, and that Remus had no choice, but the uglier parts of her almost wished that Remus had died instead. Almost.

It was difficult not to yearn for the return of an old friend when looking at old photographs. Especially one that encapsulated Theo so perfectly, so accurately, and pulled on her nostalgically agonised heartstrings.

Mourning her friend silently, Octavia flickered her gaze to the tanned boy in the picture, watching as he ruffled a younger Octavia's tight curls, if only to rile her up. How he loved to rile her up.

Back at Hogwarts, in those days that seemed to be the memories of another, Blaise was one of only two people in their clique that would put up with her tantrums. Perhaps she suspected that he rather enjoyed her tantrums. But when she would blubber like a spoilt child, he would laugh, throw his arm over her shoulder and tell her she was an ugly crier. All the while, he would resolve whatever had upset her in the first place, ensuring that she had no reason to be distraught. Blaise wasn't one for sensitivity, that's for sure, but he always saw to it that Octavia was content.

How things had changed.

Even before the war had commenced, Blaise had gradually distanced himself from her, displaying impatience and vexation at her behaviours that once made him laugh or tease her playfully. The change in his treatment of her occurred around fourth year, until their relationship took a cool and distant turn in their sixth year before the Battle. Octavia had never truly understood the cause for his sudden aloofness, for she hadn't wronged him in any way to her knowledge, and continued to care deeply about him throughout the years. Even now, after he had attempted to kidnap her twice for Draco, she still loved Blaise like a brother.

An estranged brother.

However, the pain caused by Blaise's betrayal had nothing on Draco's.

As the photograph had been taken in their third year, Draco and Octavia were not together then, so didn't display intimacy in the picture. Instead, Draco stood beside Blaise, directly behind Octavia, his silver gaze fixed on her dishevelled curls before he quickly glanced up at the camera. He didn't smile or wave, unlike Octavia and Pansy, but expressed a cool demeanour, palpable even in a photograph.

It was strange for Octavia. Others had constantly commented on Draco's cruelty back at Hogwarts, primarily her cousin, but she hadn't seen it back then. She didn't feel the coldness radiating from him, for she had only felt the warmth that she inspired within him. She hadn't see the cruel boy that he was, for he had never treated her in such a way. If anything, he had only ever treated her like a goddess, after putting her high up on a pedestal.

The same could be said for Harry. While he grinned wolfishly in the picture before winking at an immediately blushing Pansy, he had a reputation back at school, much like Draco's. But the girls hadn't noticed it, for they were never subject to the cold treatment that they had been infamous for.

Pansy and Octavia had never been victim to the boys' many pranks over the years; pranks that could be easily referred to as acts of bullying, perhaps torment. According to Hermione, they had, on several occasions, dunked Neville Longbottom into the Black Lake. Rumours said that Harry especially enjoyed levitating random girls upside down in the Prefects bathroom, submerging them in the icy cold water for a while before floating them up for air, only to repeat for however long he deemed enjoyable. Draco was the culprit of various lust potions being slipped to several students, resulting in the most repulsive temporary pairings, including, but not limited to; Marcus Flint and Ginny Weasley, Millicent Bulstrode and Severus Snape, Lavender Brown and Colin Creevey.

Octavia had heard the gossiping rumours throughout the years at Hogwarts, but hadn't paid them any mind. It wasn't that she didn't believe them, for she did, but she just didn't care. In fact, they were almost humorous back then. Now, they served as overlooked warnings as to what Harry and Draco were, and would later become.

Pulling her out of her reverie, Pansy grazed her fingertip over Harry's face in the photograph, the yearning ringing through the silence between them. Octavia didn't comment on the gesture that spoke of Pansy's love for the prevalent Dark Lord, but remained silent instead. They were indulging their twisted souls in that moment, for the photograph was to be left behind when they fled that night. The two girls had agreed to move on from their pasts, leaving their loves behind, figuratively and literally.

Draco would be left in the dampest, smallest, dankest cell of the dungeons, and Octavia would never see him again. If she was correct in her assumption that Draco would soon die at the hands of the unhinged Ronald Weasley, that is. It was a fair assumption to possess; the death of the twins had Ron slipping further into madness, despair and tragedy ruling his fracturing mind. Combining that with the guilt-plagued Sirius Black, produced a most precarious and fragile result.

Observing the colouring crinkled photograph allowed Pansy a glimmer of closure with the man she loved. Octavia, on the other hand, was able to find closure in encounters with Draco, so offered silent comfort to her friend, allowing her to gaze longingly at the young and happy Harry.

The moment, however, was not a sweet or kind one. It was laced with fear and dread, self-doubts and judgements. For the realisation that was brought in the final moments with the photograph was not a soothing one.

They were frightened. Of the men they loved, and themselves. For the men evidently had ways of bringing out a nostalgic love and nourishing it, even in times such as these.

They were frightened of how weak they were for the men they should hate.

* * *

*.*.*.*

* * *

Slender fingers fastened the buttons of Draco's white shirt, hazel eyes raking over the small scattered scars on his chest. But as Octavia buttoned up his shirt, his scar scattered chest was slowly shielded from her vision. The atmosphere between them that visit was particularly thick and tense, filled with unspoken words that Octavia longed to say.

From beneath his lashes, Draco observed her silently, his silver gaze fixed on her blank expression. It was obvious he knew she wasn't herself that day, but she offered no explanation, and he had yet to inquire.

Of course, Octavia had a task to perform that day, other than the regular feeding of the prisoner, and seeing to his injuries. But she liked to perform the regular duties beforehand, to ensure that, if they were interrupted prematurely by Ron, Draco would still be fed and cleaned. The questions were less important to her than his wellbeing. A frightening acknowledgement that filled her with bouts of self-doubt and judgement.

The fresh memories of gazing at the nostalgic photograph earlier that morning had crumbled the last of her emotional defences, though. So being in the cell with him was a precarious endeavour indeed; a recipe for disaster. But no disaster came. Not yet, anyway.

Octavia brushed her finger over the long, thick wound above his collarbone.

It was the first injury she had healed upon arrival to the cell, for it bled generously down his chest, speaking of the increase in brutality that he was victim to. Again, for the countless time that day, her heart clenched wretchedly, possibilities of what would befall him once she fled flashing in her mind relentlessly. A never-ending cycle of emotional torture that she feared she could not withstand for much longer. Surely there was a breaking point for a person, especially one as weak as she.

Her white patterned leggings featured droplets of Draco's blood from tending to him, her white crop top displaying the same stains. The cream shawl she had brought with her now pooled around her on the grimy ground as she arranged the ruined bandages and used salves on the tray. She had perhaps intentionally worn such revealing attire to rouse desire within him, but if she did, she would never admit it. Even so, she doubted her appearance could be considered 'attractive' for she was nothing but skin and protruding bones. Still, the attire was much too thin and revealing for the frosty air of the dungeons.

Draco didn't seem to be paying much mind to her clothing, however. His gaze remained fixed on her weary face, occasionally lingering over her curls that were there no longer. Instead, her blonde locks had been combed and straightened by use of muggle devices, now falling in a sleek curtain down her back. He didn't like it, that much was clear in the clenching of his jaw when he observed the new hairstyle. Of course, he didn't understand the reason for such a change; a cosmic transformation for Octavia and Draco, but to anyone else, a miniscule change of hairstyle.

Octavia had chopped off the majority of her curls the night prior before using muggle technology to straighten it. Her hair was now shoulder-length with a light fringe that fell past her perfectly sculpted brows. The change of appearance was something that she felt a sudden impulse to do, but couldn't explain the reason why. Perhaps she had been so desperate to shed her old skin – and life – that she took drastic measures in altering such a pivotal factor in her appearance? Perhaps Pansy just had a way of convincing her victims to radically change their hairstyles?

Alas, Draco most certainly was not pleased.

"What did you do?" Draco asked after a while, finally speaking as he inspected her straight short hair with palpable disdain.

"I got a haircut," Octavia mumbled, tucking a sleek lock behind her ear.

"Why?" Draco frowned, his stormy silver eyes almost glowering at the straight blonde hair.

"I felt like I needed a change," she shrugged meekly, a blush on her cheeks at his evident dislike. Did that mean that he no longer found her desirable? Were her temporarily perished curls a primary factor in his attraction to her? Strangely, Octavia felt a pang of hurt at the thought.

"Is it permanent?" Draco asked, his disdainful gaze lingering over her feathery bangs.

"No," Octavia scowled. "It'll go curly again when I wash it. What's the problem, Draco?"

"I hate it." Draco sneered, making no attempt to appease the evident hurt in her hazel eyes.

"Well, lucky for me, we're not together, so you have no say in what I do at all, let alone with my fucking hair." Octavia hissed, but doubtfully touched the blunt edges of her hair. Pansy wasn't exactly skilled with a pair of kitchen scissors. That was clear in the uneven cut.

Draco's silver eyes flashed at the viciousness of her words, his upper lip twitching, daring to twist into a snarl. Instead, he clenched his jaw as he glared dangerously at her, leaning against the stone wall, Octavia kneeling between his spread legs. Despite the suddenly hostile atmosphere, she made no move to storm out of the cell in a huff, merely scowling at him instead.

Simply put, Octavia was livid. She had visited him that evening in hopes of sharing a sweet moment with the man she loved before she would flee, never to see him again. But he spent their valuable time together insulting her hair, and generally making her feel like crap. As if she wasn't insecure enough in regards to her withering beauty.

Draco seemed to sense the sudden waves of self-pity emanating from her, her hazel eyes shining with hurt as she averted her gaze to the tray by his thigh.

"Don't go," Draco whispered, reading her thoughts as she stared at the tray. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not," Octavia scowled. "You hate it; you said so."

"I'm sorry for how I said it," Draco soothed, leaning toward her, the clanging of the chains jingling through the cell. "It was cruel, and I apologise."

"But you meant it," Octavia mumbled, but allowed him to rest his forehead on hers.

"I prefer your curls," Draco said gently. "They suit you, because they're like you. But I, in no way, meant to suggest that you are any less beautiful without them."

"They're like me?" Octavia repeated, her face scrunching up in confusion.

"Yes," Draco smiled, placing a sweet chaste kiss on the smooth skin of her forehead. "They are messy, wild and beautiful."

"I guess I won't be beautiful until they grow back, then." Octavia snapped, feeling rather sorry for herself.

"You will always be beautiful," Draco smirked against her skin.

A rosy tinge appeared at her gaunt cheeks as she smiled weakly, unable to fight off the butterflies that plagued the pits of her tummy. She had most definitely been fishing for compliments, and was more than pleased to accept them. Her bruised vanity had been appeased.

"I have to ask you questions," Octavia sighed, scooting closer to him.

"How much longer do we have?" Draco asked between soft, lingering kisses to her flushed face.

"Like twenty minutes, I think," Octavia shrugged. It was difficult to estimate, given that Ron deemed it fit to interrupt whenever the mood struck him.

"Come here," Draco whispered, brushing his lips against hers before reclining against the wall.

Octavia knew exactly what he was asking for, but was more than happy to oblige. If these were her last ever moments with Draco, she was sure to make them count, even if it was spent on snogging sessions.

Climbing on top of him, Octavia straddled the prisoner she should have been interrogating, linking her arms around his neck as he gazed down at her heatedly.

"For every question I answer, I believe I am owed a kiss." Draco smirked, teasing her playfully, submerging her in the trance of their own little fantasy world.

They sometimes played this little game at Hogwarts. Not often, but a few times. Although, in the place of questions and answers were gifts and sugarquills.

"Me first," Octavia breathed against his lips once settled.

Draco hummed his permission, brushing his lips against hers softly, as though cherishing the delightful sensation.

"What's the Hufflepuff Cup got to do with Harry?" Octavia whispered, feeling him tense instantly.

"You know about the Cup?" Draco asked coolly, pulling his lips away from hers.

The sheer intensity of his gaze had her hauled out of the fleeting trance she had been in, a crease forming at her brow as he stared down at her.

"Yeah," Octavia nodded timidly.

Sirius had specifically ordered her to inquire about the Cup, so she wasn't doing anything wrong by admitting to it. But Draco's molten silver eyes and intense reaction was more than she had expected.

"It's hidden," Octavia quickly added, telling a half truth. The Cup was indeed hidden, but within the upper levels of the abbey, not off-base. But she allowed her words to imply that the Cup was nowhere within their proximity. However, the thought didn't strike her that she had essentially just admitted to the Order being in possession of the Cup.

"Is it, now," Draco drawled, assessing her coolly. It wasn't a question, but a statement. A statement he saw the answer to in her vulnerable hazel eyes, so open, so telling. That, combined with the discreet wriggling of her toes told him everything he needed to know.

"Answer my question," Octavia frowned, shifting in his lap anxiously. His heated stare was definitely unnerving her.

"The Cup has nothing to do with Harry," Draco smirked. "But everything to do with Harry."

"You called him by his first name," Octavia noted, her face scrunched up in thought. It was certainly unusual for a subordinate of the Dark Lord to refer to him so casually, even if they had been friends for their entire lives. It was strange, and caused a nagging sensation to chip away her baffled mind.

"Did I?" Draco quirked his brow, not appearing surprised in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to almost be mocking her. "Perhaps you misheard me."

Incomplete memories began to swarm in her mind, echoes of the prophecy ringing in her ears, not quite whole, only fragments. A voice gnawed and nagged and pestered at her brain, but she couldn't quite make out what it was saying. It was as though her intuition was attempting to form a voice of its own, as opposed to relying on gut feelings. It was trying to communicate directly with her, warning her, screaming incoherent words that she couldn't decipher.

She was so lost in the mental chaos that she barely noticed Draco's lips pushing against hers softly, enjoying a one-sided kiss as she remained motionless. It wasn't until his tongue parted her lips and delved into her mouth that she snapped back to reality. Frowning, Octavia hesitantly returned the tender kiss, their plump lips smooshed together, the hardness on his lap pressing against her core.

Craning her neck to the side, Octavia escaped his kiss, leaving her neck open to his ministrations. She tried to concentrate on her inner thoughts as his teeth grazed over the smooth skin of her neck, planting lingering chaste kisses wherever he could reach.

Her hands pressed against his muscular scarred chest, moving him back against the wall, preventing him from continuing his teasing ministrations. Draco allowed her to gently shove him away, a wicked smirk on his lips as their gazes met.

"You are so close to realising everything," Draco grinned, suddenly pushing against her hands, their faces aligned, his glowing silver eyes boring into her curious hazel orbs.

Octavia swallowed in unexplained fear as he pressed his lips against hers again, stealing another kiss from her unmoving mouth.

"So very close, baby," Draco purred against her lips before he pulled away, flashing a brilliantly frightening grin at her.

Octavia twitched slightly, as though his words had struck her. In a way, they had.

Frowning in utter confusion, yet on the verge of discovering the mysteries, Octavia scrambled to her feet and rushed to the barred cell door. She didn't bother collecting the tray from the ground or uttering a goodbye to the prisoner, for her brain was screaming urgently at her to go to the prophecies.

The moment Ron opened the door, she took off at sprint, racing through the dungeons, her heart pounding violently against her chest. She was so submerged in her panicked state that she didn't even hear Draco's last words to her, nor the cackling of the prisoners echoing down the damp corridors of the dungeons.

"I'll see you soon, my queen."

* * *

The hour was late, but she still had time. Octavia was set to depart the abbey in only two hours, and should be spending her time packing, or saying silent goodbyes to those they would leave behind. Instead, she snuck into the parlour room, her body covered in goosebumps from the icy air and the eeriness surrounding her.

In her frantic escape of urgency from Draco's cell, she had forgotten to take her shawl with her, so wandered through the dark parlour room in nothing but leggings and a crop top. It wasn't practical attire for the brutal wintery frost in the air, but she was so entirely consumed by her own worst fears that she barely felt the cold assaulting her, turning her cracked lips blue.

Despite its unpredictability, Octavia clutched her crooked wand in her right hand as she crept through the dark room, following the echoing voices of the prophecy spheres. As the room was relatively small in size, in comparison to most other rooms in the abandoned abbey, she located the two balls in a matter of moments. They sat on the fourth shelf of cabinet bolted to the wooden wall.

Whipping the cabinet open, Octavia grabbed the silver knife on the shelf beneath the prophecies, using the sharp blade to prick a hole on her index finger. Once blood bubbled and dripped out of the miniscule wound, she smeared the crimson liquid over the spheres, watching as they glowed bright white. The enchantments placed on the prophecies only allowed non-defected members of the Order access to use them.

Hurriedly, she snatched both prophecies, dropping to her bum on the cold floor and placing them delicately in front of her. She tapped the tip of her wand against the sphere on the right, Pansy's haunting voice echoing out immediately.

 _'Born of soul and born of blood, the two will take their rightful place' … 'Two halves of a whole will make power and evil from death and murder' … 'The end of the Dark Lord, and the beginning left behind.'_

Born of soul: Harry. The end of the Dark Lord: Harry.

Born of blood … Two halves of a whole … The beginning left behind.

Left behind … Born of blood.

Blood in the Hufflepuff Cup … The diadem used in Harry's ritual.

Memories of conversations flashed in her mind, Lee Jordan's and Draco's voices drowning out the prophecy.

 _'Lords will rule the world' … 'In the rumours that circulate the lower ranks, we hear stories about Lord Potter and another.' … 'There is talk of another Lord. One that hasn't risen yet, but will. According to the rumours, when the two Lords rise, in full power together, their side will win and they will be unstoppable.'_

Another Lord. A Lord who hadn't risen to full power yet. One born of blood, left behind. A child of Voldemort?

 _"He's my son, I will call him what I want." The familiar drawl responded coldly, Octavia's eyes widening as she realised that it belonged to Lucius Malfoy._

 _"Technically, he isn't," a woman countered. "And after the ritual is complete, I'd be surprised if he didn't decorate the walls with your intestines if he heard you speak his name."_

Draco.

No, no, no, no, no!

He wasn't … He couldn't be.

But it was there. The evidence, the clues that they had overlooked, misinterpreted.

A strangled, choked, wretched sob tore through her throat, escaping her cracked lips, swollen from Draco's ministrations mere moments ago.

They had been looking at it all wrong. He wasn't a high-ranking follower of the Lord, but one himself. Born of blood, left behind. He was Voldemort's son.

It struck her. The realisation.

It was a trap. It had all been a trap. The Cup … He wanted it … He needed it for his own ritual. But only a Hufflepuff could have retrieved it from the rubble. That's what he was waiting for! And she handed him the information … fed it to him on a silver platter.

Pansy had been so very right.

He had manipulated her like the fool she was, played and manoeuvred her like a chess piece. And she had allowed him to, completely unaware, merely lost in her love for him. And now, he had everything he needed. All because of her.

Blasts and screams ripped her out of her frantic thoughts, tears blurring her vision as she sobbed horridly. The walls and ground shook, taking her back to that awful night at Hogwarts. Only she wasn't at Hogwarts, and it wasn't a memory.

Through the chaos resounding off the walls of the abbey, she heard it. Over the screams of panic, she heard his booming voice. Louder than the explosions attacking the abbey, Draco's voice ripped through the building, searching, seeking, and finding her.

"OCTAVIA!"

Draco was coming for her.


	9. Chapter 9

The abbey walls trembled with the sheer force of the blasts tearing through the air, the ground shaking right beneath her as she scrambled to her feet. Octavia heard him, calling out to her, over the madness ensuing in the abbey. He called out repeatedly, his booming voice almost unascertainable through the blasts and bangs resounded through the abbey.

"OCTAVIA!"

Snatching the prophecies from the floor, Octavia stuffed them back onto the cabinet, knowing that they were safe there. Even if an enemy happened across them, they were only retrievable by the blood of a non-defected Order member. It even prevented them from using an Order member to retrieve it on their behalf, for the enchantments would sense such disloyalty in favour of survival, and deny access. Octavia believed, if memory served, that the enchantments would kill the betrayer.

"OCTAVIA!"

Fuck. His voice was much closer now. Not too close, but nearer than before.

Diving into panic mode, Octavia turned on her heels and sprinted out of the parlour room, careful to quietly shut the door behind her. She couldn't risk any sounds coming from her vicinity, as it could cause her to be found.

Her bare feet felt numb as she scurried over the frosty floor, venturing to the bedroom she shared with Pansy. The brunette wouldn't be in the bedroom, Octavia knew, for she had been packing supplies secretly in the kitchen. But Pansy wasn't the reason for Octavia's retreat to the bedroom. She needed to retrieve her diary, lest she was captured. It sounded silly, but the diary could be very valuable to her if she was abducted.

Screams pierced through her pounding eardrums, battling with the loud beating of her clenching heart to be heard. The walls trembled and shook, the ground quivering beneath her, fragments of rock and dust raining down from the wobbling roof. It took her back to another time, at Hogwarts. The same destruction and chaos erupting around her, and she hoped that it had the same end result, for her at least; to escape. Preferably with Pansy and Hermione. The others were expendable to her, as much as she hated to admit it. But when it came down to life or death, Octavia would have sacrificed anyone and everyone to save those she loved most.

Ignoring the wretchedness within her, Octavia scurried through the upper level of the abandoned cathedral, her palm flat against the rough walls to balance herself as she moved. The screams and shouted hexes reverberated through the stone construction, but seemed to be coming from the lower levels. Thankfully, that allowed Octavia time to do what she needed to do.

Reaching the rusted spiral staircase, Octavia grabbed onto the railings and unevenly climbed up the steps. The metal structure shook violently from the explosions in the abbey, threatening to crumble from its assault, but she climbed until she reached the top, not allowing her fear to consume her entirely. She had a mission. That was it. A mission.

The thought allowed her to concentrate somewhat, permitting a semi-strategic mind frame to settle on her. It wasn't much, but the sliver of calmness that the mindset provided her with assisted her in her task to retrieve the diary.

Racing through the hallway, the clanging of the spiral staircase rung out, causing Octavia to pray to the Gods that it wouldn't crash to the ground, leaving her trapped in the top level, just waiting to be caught and captured. She shoved through the door manically, sprinting over to the dresser that contained her minimal amount of possessions. Ripping out the top drawer violently, Octavia stumbled back as it crashed onto the ground, almost landing on her toes. Toes. That reminded her.

Forgetting the drawer, Octavia scurried over to the bunkbeds, throwing herself onto the ground. She reached under the bed with grunts as she stretched, hooking her fingers around the laces of her boots. Successfully latching onto the much-needed footwear, Octavia yanked them out from beneath the bed and hurriedly pulled them onto her feet, forgetting all about socks. There was no time for socks.

Pulling at the laces to ensure a secure fit, Octavia looped them around each other, fastening them tightly. Once her boots were on, she snatched her bag from the ground and half-ran half-crawled over to the drawer on the floor.

Straight feathery hair obscured her vision frequently, Octavia impatiently whacking it out of the way as she unzipped her bag. The diary was the first item she stuffed into the worn and torn leather backpack, clothes and jackets quickly following. Once she had packed all of her meagre belongings, Octavia swung the bag strap over her shoulder and scrambled to her feet.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she attempted to soothe the rampant adrenaline surging through her veins, poorly calming herself, almost dizzy from the sheer fright that consumed her. Swallowing thickly, she hesitantly retrieved the final item in her possession from the nightstand before running to the open door. A gun.

It was an item that she had pinched from a muggle cottage a few years back, but she had never used it. Of course, she had her wand, but the firearm had its advantages. Gripping onto it tightly, she took solace in the knowledge that the gun had a full clip of bullets within it, but she prayed to Merlin that she needn't use them.

Exhaling one final steadying breath with a whoosh, Octavia ignored the dread pooled in the pits of her tummy, forgetting all about the tears that still fell freely down her anguished face, and bolted through the door. It took her mere seconds to reach the rickety staircase shaking so violently that one would think it was being directly attacked, rather than vibrating from the ripple effect of explosions nearby.

Scrambling down the stairs, she gripped the gun with one shaky hand, the other hand grazing over the barrier to prevent herself from falling. Her boots clanged against the rusted metal, stomping loudly through the upper level of the old building. But she didn't care; now that she had retrieved her belongings, her focus was fixed on reaching Pansy and Hermione. Unfortunately, to do that she had to venture down into the bedlam.

She saw the battle before he even reached the long staircase that led to it. Stray hexes flew up and connected with the stone roof above her, threatening to bring it down and destroy everyone. Hazel eyes wide with horror gazed up at the dust-raining roof as she gripped tightly onto the bannister of the central staircase, leading from the third level, past the second, and to the ground floor. She gripped firmly, watching the roof carefully as though it would fall upon her at any given moment.

Hurriedly, Octavia scrambled down the broken steps, turning her gaze to the smoky blur of chaos on the ground as she reached halfway. Her heart deadbolted to the bit of her tummy at what she saw, halting to a stop at the second floor on the staircase. Countless Death Eaters, some cloaked, others revealed, swarmed the foyer, outnumbering the Order members three to one.

Not wishing to declare her arrival, Octavia remained perfectly motionless halfway up the decaying staircase, hazel eyes darting around the misty foyer. Frantically, her gaze searched for any signs of a bushy mane or sleek silky brown hair amidst the chaos. As she scanned the area, she noticed that Draco was nowhere in sight, but he was likely hunting around the abbey for her, probably only just missing her as she slinked around like the sneaky snake she was. But she quickly noticed someone equally as treacherous as the one who hunted her.

Blaise Zabini lashed his wand through the air, no jets of light shooting out, but whatever spell he had performed was undoubtedly a ghastly one. Octavia's face scrunched up in absolute horror as the throat of Molly Weasley sliced open, blood spurting out and pooling at the already blood-covered floor. Before Octavia could even allow the brewing scream inside of her to erupt, Blaise's black eyes snapped up to where she stood as though he had sensed her presence.

Blood spattered over his flawlessly tanned skin, white teeth almost glowing as he flashed her an incredibly wide grin, shooting surges of horror through her. Panicked and close to vomiting, Octavia turned to scramble up the staircase, but didn't get the chance, for another Death Eater stood at the very top of the stairs, on the third floor, smirking down at her.

Silver eyes glowed brilliantly, piercing through the thick smog of the battle, fixed intently on only her. His wounds were completely healed, his attire pristine and crisp, blood coating his otherwise pale hands. She was trapped.

Repeatedly, her face whipped up to Draco before snapping back down to Blaise who approached, making his way through the chaos around him effortlessly, slowly, almost predatorily. She had three choices. Use the gun on one of the two men she loved dearly; use her wand on one of the two men she loved dearly; allow them to snatch her away from those she fought with.

It was then that she realised, no matter how much hatred she harboured for Blaise and Draco, she could never hurt them; she could never kill them with fire, nor blast them with the gun in her hand. She just didn't have it in her. They weren't random, faceless enemies; they were people she had been so close to once upon a time, and if she killed them, she would die along with them in her soul and spirit.

Suddenly, another option struck her, and she didn't hesitate in taking it, not sparing a moment to process the risks. Looping the other strap of her backpack over her shoulder, thereby securing the bag, Octavia bent and stuck the firearm into her boot as Draco descended the stairs, nearing her quickly, Blaise quickening his pace toward her. But they didn't know that she could escape; they didn't know how desperate she really was, especially when faced with the surrounding horrors.

"Octavia!" Draco bellowed as she grabbed onto the bannister and swung her legs over clumsily.

Perched on the barrier, Octavia spared not a single glance at the now-sprinting Draco and Blaise, approaching her hurriedly. But they were too late. Octavia propelled herself off the barrier, falling through the smoggy air, four or five metres to the ground. It didn't sound like much, but as she was falling, fears of breaking her legs from the harsh impact that awaited her swarmed in her mind maddeningly. Shrieks ripped through her throat as she fell, but she wasn't even sure if they were coming from her or not, only hearing the shouts of Draco and Blaise, their voices sounding panicked. Perhaps concerned.

The thought was jolted from her brain as she landed, a blood-curling scream of agony tearing through the fog, a crunching and snapping of bones raking through the air.

Octavia landed in a heap on the ground, her left ankle completely shattered from the force of the collision. She had tried to land on her feet, thinking it was the best option, but wasn't so sure now that her body felt alight with absolute blinding pain. Blood seeped out of her palms and elbows, but she had no idea how she had obtained those injuries. Probably when she had landed, but the overwhelming agony in her ankle had washed out all other sensations, her sole focus on the crippling pain of her shattered broken bones.

Two loud thuds echoed out through the chaos, seemingly coming from either side of her crouched over body, but she couldn't be sure. She couldn't see anything through the tears that streamed out of her eyes, blurring her vision in the already foggy foyer.

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" Blaise's furious voice snapped, evidently having landed right by her body. "You could have died, Tavs!"

A vice-like grip shot sharp pains through her arm as Draco grabbed her roughly, hauling her up to her feet. Well, one foot was raised off the ground, and she generally hopped on the uninjured one.

"Let me go!" Octavia shrieked, pulling violently against his grip. "Let go of me! PANSY! HERMIONE! PAN –GET OFF OF ME, YOU FUCKING MONSTER!"

"Octavia!" Pansy's panicked voice ripped through the air. "Octavia, where are you?!"

"I'll get her," Blaise declared, disappearing into the fog as Octavia continued to struggle against Draco.

"GET OFF, GET OFF, GET OFF!" Octavia wailed, clawing at his hand that held onto her securely.

"Octavia!" Draco barked, pulling her back against his chest, her feet dangling above the ground as he wrapped both arms around her. "Octavia, stop! You're only hurting yourself, enough!"

"G-et of-ff!" Octavia blubbered, sobs washing over her as her body shook violently. "Le-le-t me go-o!"

"Shh," Draco hushed softly, the girl failing wildly in his unrelenting hold. "I've got you; you're safe, Octavia. It's ok."

"PANSY!" Octavia shrieked, sobbing like a toddler, her face scrunched up in total anguish. "PANSY RU-UN!"

"OCTAV- _oomph_." Pansy's screaming voice was suddenly silenced, followed a by close thud and crunch.

Octavia couldn't see through the fog, but could have sworn that the sound had been little more than a metre away. Continuing to scrape, scratch and now bite at Draco's solid arms, Octavia kept fighting and struggling, praying to Merlin for a miracle. But none came. She struggled in his tight embrace, biting through his skin, tasting his metallic blood as she thrashed madly. He didn't even flinch.

Draco nuzzled his face into the nook of her neck, as though enjoying a tender embrace with his love, instead of holding onto a wildly thrashing and screeching captive. Every time she kicked her legs out at nothing, sharp blinding jolts of pain surged up her body from the movements of her broken ankle, but she kept on fighting, flailing in his tight hold.

Suddenly, a thought struck her, and she almost screamed at her own stupidity. Bringing her knees up to her chest – a difficult task, for she was hardly 'fit', and already thoroughly exhausted – her torso cramped at the use of muscles, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through it. Her fingers felt around the rim of her left boot, searching for the gun she had tucked inside, only barely able to move in Draco's tight embrace.

The soft tender kisses he planted on the smooth skin of her neck told her that he was far too preoccupied with the feel of her in his arms to notice her abrupt calmness. He was so lost in the feel of her in his arms for the first time in three years that he didn't realise that she fumbled around for the firearm in her boot.

Successfully locating the handle of the gun, Octavia strained to reach further down, clasping her fingers around the handgrip. Tears of horror continued to stream down her anguished face as she discreetly slipped the firearm out of the boot, clutching onto it tightly. She transferred it to her right hand, switched off the safety before twisting her arm around her chest and pressing the barrel to Draco's shoulder.

Before he even had a second to realise what was happening, Octavia's finger pulled the trigger, a booming explosion erupting right at her ear, replaced immediately by a painful sting and a ringing noise. Arms loosened and Draco stumbled back, probably shouting from the pain and shock, but she couldn't hear anything over the thumping of her eardrum and the incessant ringing noise.

Octavia crumbled to the floor in a heap, her mind blank and fuzzy, her vision unclear, her body in shock from the gunshot sound that deafened her. The gun was no longer in her hand, but she barely noticed, only somewhat able to hold onto the sliver of reality in her dazed state.

Chocolate dark skin appeared in her vision, Octavia fleetingly feeling as though she was being hauled over somebody's shoulder. Her body jolted and bounced as whoever carried her ran through the battle, escaping the abbey as Death Eaters swarmed them.

Her hooded eyes were met only with a pair of jeans and a belt, telling her that whoever's shoulder she was slung over was an Order member. A Death Eater wouldn't be caught dead in muggle attire such as jeans.

Groaning as she gradually slipped back into reality, Octavia craned her neck to observe her surroundings, grunting as the man who carried her ran out of the abbey and through the gardens. Fleeing Order members surrounded her, bile creeping up in her throat as she saw the dead body of Allister Moody on the grass. Scattered Order members fought, trying to flee and reach the edge of the wards to apparate. That's where her saviour must be taking her, she fleetingly realised.

A wave of relief washed over her as Hermione ran close behind them, Ron and Arthur Weasley flanking the bushy-haired muggle-born. They duelled with several Death Eaters, but Octavia realised that none of the returned hexes were aimed at Hermione. It thankfully allowed her cousin to catch up to them, the expression of relief etched onto her features upon seeing Octavia hauled over Lee Jordan's shoulder.

Octavia's relief, however, was short-lived, for she gazed frantically around the gardens, unable to see Pansy anywhere. Nor Blaise. Meaning, it was very likely that Blaise had captured the brunette.

Draco caught her attention instantly as he appeared in the blasted and demolished doorway of the abbey. His molten silver gaze connected with hers straightaway, blood oozing out the shoulder she had shot with the lost gun. From his murderous expression, she could tell that he was simply beyond furious, but he was far away, so she had a chance of escaping. Still, her spine tingled and shivered with fear at his heated gaze, tears streaming down her face as he abruptly sprinted toward her.

"Apparate!" Octavia screeched at Lee as they ran, her voice almost lost in the sounds of hexes and screams ripping through the night air. "Apparate now!"

"Where?" Lee shouted, sprinting over the ward threshold.

He didn't apparate right away, and instead, turned and waited for Hermione to reach them, Ron and Arthur firing hexes over their shoulders as they protected the muggle-born.

"The emergency meet-point!" Hermione screeched, as though she had heard their conversation, but frankly, that was impossible. "Go! Go now!"

Octavia suddenly felt the familiar awful sensation of apparation, pulled through space, stretched and yanked like taffy. But the relief of a successful escape didn't come to her. Only dread and horror filled her as she was wrenched through space.

For the last thing she saw was Lucius Malfoy grab onto Arthur Weasley's robes right before the red-head apparated, thereby bringing the Death Eater to their emergency location.

Not good.

* * *

An unladylike grunt escaped her lips as Lee landed on the cobblestone ground of Broad Street in Stirling, Scotland, her body jolting from the impact. One by one, other members cracked into the street void of muggles due to the late hour. But nobody had a moment to relax, for Octavia screamed out as she shimmied off Lee's shoulders.

"They're coming!" Octavia screamed instantly. "EVERYONE HIDE!"

Wands immediately whipped, flicked and soared through the air, all Order members casting a variety of charms, some disapparating, others concealed. A disillusionment charm washed over Octavia, courtesy of Lee, before his arm extended and shoved her back against the window of a shop, both remaining utterly still.

Several scattered cracks tore through the still air, alerting all concealed Order members that more had arrived. Some newly arrived Order members, however, had Death Eaters attached to them, either gripping directly onto their limbs, or clutching onto fistfuls of their robes. Attached to a panicked-looking Arthur Weasley was the father of the devil in Octavia's nightmares and realities. But he wasn't truly Draco's father, was he? No. Draco's father was much worse than Lucius Malfoy.

The other Death Eaters that had side-along apparated restrained and disarmed their respective Order members, but didn't kill them. Perhaps for leverage. Perhaps to preserve magical blood that could be deemed worthy. Octavia truly wasn't sure.

Lucius whirled his wand above him, wards shooting up into the sky, bubbling around the area instantly. A few of the other Death Eaters made to follow suit, but he prevented them from doing so.

"See to the prisoners!" Lucius barked authoritatively. "We must allow other Order members to apparate into the street, but we cannot permit them to leave!"

Colours shot up into the sky as he cast wards, trapping the hidden survivors in the street, preventing them from disapparating. They should have done that to begin with like some of the others, but foolishly, they hadn't. An attempt to stick together could very well be the end of their entire organisation.

Abruptly, Lucius slashed his wand at Arthur Weasley's back, killing the red-headed man instantly. Octavia's hands shot to her mouth, stifling the sob that couldn't be resisted at the sight. Her eyes scrunched shut, poorly preventing tears from rolling down her cheeks, her entire body camouflaged by the disillusionment charm, blending her in to the window she pressed herself against.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking a few times to clear away the blur of the tears. Her face scrunched up in horror as Lucius whipped his wand again, a silvery cobra slithering out of the tip, soaring off into the night sky before disappearing completely. She suspected that he was alerting Draco to their whereabouts with his patronus, thereby luring the devil himself back into her vicinity.

As it had all happened so quickly, Octavia couldn't recall which Order members had apparated safely into the muggle street, so she didn't know who had disapparated, or who was concealed by enchantments around her. She just hoped and prayed to every God in existence that Hermione had disapparated out of the street and to safety. Though she also knew that it was very unlikely, for Hermione would not leave Octavia stranded there with the Death Eaters.

Order members that had arrived too late, or with the Death Eaters, knelt on the cobblestone ground of the road, now bound by rough ropes or stiff due to being petrified. Sirius, Remus, Lavender and Dean were just few of the many on the road, unable to speak, move, or issue any spells in their defence.

Ear-shattering cracks ripped through the sky as more Death Eaters arrived, landing on the cobblestone street perfectly. Many were clad in their masks and cloaks, concealing their identities, but one remained in a white shirt and black slacks, his pale handsome face identifiable to all. While Draco's expression was perfectly stoic, his molten silver eyes burned with rage, betraying his inner fury. He looked practically murderous, much to Octavia's horror. She had never seen him so furious in her life; his jaw was clenched tightly, his silver eyes ablaze with vengeful wrath, his tense body radiating bloodthirst.

In that moment Octavia truly understood the universal fear that Draco struck through the wizarding population. And, for once, Octavia shared that fear wholeheartedly.

With her heart racing wildly in her chest, Octavia attempted to steady her harsh breathing, hands still clasped over her parted lips to muffle the sounds. Draco's glowing gaze darted around the seemingly vacant street, presumably searching for Octavia. Draco rolled up his left sleeve, waving his hand over the scarred skin of his inner forearm, a black blur appearing out of nowhere. Octavia couldn't make out the black blur, only understanding that it was a previously concealed tattoo of sorts. Fleetingly, she recalled tales of the Dark Mark in History of Magic back at Hogwarts.

Draco pressed his finger to the tattoo, his gaze not on his actions but still raking up and down the street as though he would spot Octavia at any given moment. But she had no intentions of being found by the man before her; the man who was a stranger.

Slowly, Octavia moved her hands from her mouth to the window behind her, placing her palms flat against the cool glass. Her back pressed against the glass as she hopped to the side, her movements careful and deliberate. As she was merely charmed with the disillusionment spell, any sudden movements would cause a blur to appear where she stood. So she ensured that she employed slow and cautious movements, despite the overwhelming urge to bolt in the opposite direction. The downside was that, as her ankle was broken, she could only jump on one foot, and it was relatively difficult to do that quietly.

One by one, a terrifying amount of Death Eaters arrived, sending ripples of cracks through the air, disturbing the safety of the emergency meet-point. There were too many Death Eaters in the street for the Order to fight; far more than there had been at the abbey. Most Death Eaters that convened in the centre of the road were clad in pristine robes, indicating that they had not participated in the battle of the abbey, and had been summoned moments ago.

Blaise was nowhere to be seen in the army that now swarmed the street, and it pained Octavia to suspect that he had been successful in capturing Pansy back at the abbey. In fact, she didn't just suspect; she knew it in her gut. That awful churning sensation that caused bouts of anxiety to dance through her frayed nerves and nausea to creep up her throat.

Another hop to the side, her back and palms pressed against the window, Octavia tried to slowly creep away from the army in front of her. She watched with horror filled eyes as they convened, whispering in small groups, some guarding the restrained Order members, others disappearing into alleys in search of hiding enemies. Again, she bounced to the side, a little bit further away from the threat, assuming that the other concealed Order members would be doing the same; escaping ever so slowly and cautiously.

Another leap, and Octavia froze. Draco's gaze shot to the window she stood at, his aim off point by a metre, boring right into the centre of the glass. Was he looking at Lee? Did she move too fast and cause a blur? Did he know she was there?

Stretching her fingers out slowly, Octavia attempted to feel through the air, trying to find Lee with her touch. She couldn't feel him; not his skin or limbs or robes. Perhaps he was still in their original position, or he may have slipped away. She didn't know and couldn't afford to find out.

As Draco kept his burning eyes fixed on the window, he slipped out his wand from his trouser pocket, Octavia chancing another side-leap, slinking away cautiously. He didn't notice her or her movements, his gaze still focused on the spot she crept away from. As he placed his wand flat on the palm of his outstretched hand, Octavia risked another hop, fearing the curious magic he was evidently about to perform.

Draco's lips moved, speaking silently to his wand, his words unheard over the distance between them. Suddenly, his wand began to whizz, spinning on his palm, never falling off, whirling in perfect circles. As his gaze finally tore away from the window, resting on his wand instead, Octavia took a few more jumps to the side, pushing away from the glass as she reached a large blue dumpster.

Wasting not a moment, she dropped to her knees and crawled around the garbage bin as his wand came to an abrupt stop, pointing directly at her. Hazel eyes widened in horror, freezing her in place for only a moment as Draco's gaze slowly looked up from the wand, fixing on the very spot she was crouched in. Fear and panic consumed her entirely as she continued to crawl around the dumpster, glancing over her shoulder at Draco, horrified that the wand followed her every move.

Slipping out her wand from the elastic waist of her leggings, Octavia gripped onto it tightly, turning around and rising to one foot, facing Draco fully. His gaze bore right into her, shining with fury and triumph, but he couldn't see her. His wand somehow revealed her location, but the disillusionment charm remained in place.

Lucius and a woman with wild black hair and a manic glint in her eyes stepped up to Draco, silver fixed on the imperceptible Octavia. His pink lips moved barely, issuing orders to the two subordinates, the crazy black-haired woman lighting up as Draco spoke. The madwoman gazed up at Draco as he spoke, adoration, pride and love shining from her perceptibly, Octavia unable to resist the twinge of jealousy inside of her.

She ignored the jealousy. For if she were to acknowledge it, total self-disgust would quickly follow. It surely wasn't normal to feel petty emotions such as jealousy when the man you loved was hunting you like prey. It was all very fucked up.

Lucius and the madwoman nodded after a moment, Draco's eyes never leaving Octavia's position. Hazel eyes filled with horror and trepidation watched as the two Death Eaters delivered orders to the others, all speaking in whispers before slowly dispersing around the street. Octavia was panicking for sure.

If she remained still, Draco could attack at any given moment, but if she ran (or hopped away), she had no doubt that it would provoke absolute chaos. The wand evidently followed her movements, so Draco would follow her, and it may cause others to reveal themselves, namely Hermione. If Hermione revealed herself to defend Octavia, Ron would, and it would be a chain effect potentially causing a massacre. So Octavia truly had no fucking clue what to do. A part of her wondered if she should turn herself over. If she did, perhaps the others could remain hidden and escape. But then again, Hermione would never allow it, and that faced Octavia with the same predicament of consequences as the alternative option.

Running. It was the best option, she decided. For if it ensued absolute mayhem, at least a few may be able to escape again.

Before she managed to even take another step, the Death Eaters aimed their wands at random places around the street, in alleyways, in doorways of shops, at stone walls, everywhere. Draco's wand, she realised, had followed suit, pointed right at her, his stormy eyes burning a hole into her.

 _"_ _Finite Incantatem!"_ A unison of shouts rumbled through the air, yellow jets of light soaring all over the place.

Draco's counter-charm hit Octavia square in the chest, not causing her any pain, but dissolving the disillusionment charm from head to toe. Anguished hazel eyes met molten silver as Octavia's horrified features were revealed, dishevelled straight hair framing her face. Her injured foot was raised off the ground, her knee bent, one hand clutching onto the side of the dumpster for balance, the other aiming her wand at Draco. There was no option for her anymore. She had to use her wand against him; the only magic she could produce would have to be used. Especially since Order members were revealed all over the street, every single one of them taking a duelling stance. Less than before, though, indicating that some had managed to escape since the Death Eaters had arrived.

That's when it happened. That's when Octavia's predication materialised around her; all hell broke loose.

Tears welled up in her pained eyes as jets of light soared threw the hair, the battle recommencing with the taste of desperation in the air from both sides. Draco tucked his wand back into his trouser pocket, seemingly unfazed about Octavia aiming her own wand directly at him. He stepped toward her predatorily, the blazing anger in his eyes not dimming in the slightest.

Limping back against the dumpster, Octavia's face scrunched up in absolute anguish as her wand shook in her trembling hand. Her plump lips glistened with the tears she shed, salting her tongue and soul at the same time.

"Don't," Octavia whined, her wand shaking violently as she hopped backwards. "Draco, don't, please!"

He faltered for a moment in his step, but quickly dismissed her pleas, continuing to advance on her. She knew that she'd have to use the only magic she could against him, but the thought shredded her heart to pieces, unwilling to kill the only man she had ever loved.

"Draco," Octavia whined pitifully, hobbling away as he approached with determination. "Stay back! Don't come any closer! You stay away from me!"

Octavia wasn't even sure that he could hear her hoarse pleas over the screams and chaos around them. But if he did, he paid them no mind, advancing on her swiftly, burning determination raging in his silver eyes.

" _Inferno!_ " Octavia screamed, her voice breaking as Draco halted to a stop, his eyes wide with shock and palpable hurt.

But his face remained in her vision, no orange flames swallowing him whole. Her wand didn't even vibrate with the spell, not reacting in the slightest. Yet, Draco stood frozen in place, his brows furrowing as heartache etched onto his features. She could have sworn that a single tear glistened at the corner of his left eye, but she couldn't be sure due to the metres between them and the smog engulfing them.

Swiftly, anger flashed in his eyes, Draco seemingly coming out of his shocked state, his features turning to stone. Octavia didn't know that Draco would have been able to block her hex, but he didn't need to, for the spell hadn't worked.

Again, he advanced on her with determination and renewed fury, his muscular body tense with the rage that thrashed around him. Octavia could almost feel the black aura licking at her as he stormed toward her, but she kept her wand raised at him, her vision almost totally obscured by tears.

" _INFERNO!_ " Octavia screeched like a banshee, aiming her wand at the advancing blond.

Nothing but a single gust of grey smoke puffed from the tip of her wand at the second attempt of the spell, a sob ripping through her at her failure. Draco didn't falter in the slightest, his muscular chest visibly rising and falling with the sheer brutal force of his rage. Rage that undoubtedly stemmed from absolute heartache at her attempt to kill him.

Realising that her harnessed powers weren't effective in that moment, Octavia glanced frantically around at the ongoing battle, desperately searching for any signs of bushy brown hair. Instead she noticed a flash of red, narrowing her eyes to focus her vision on Ron Weasley duelling Adrian Pucey and Lucius Malfoy. Her heart soared spectacularly as she spotted Hermione beside Ron, fighting just as fiercely, but it wasn't enough. Lucius and Adrian were using much darker magic with greater force, winning by a landslide.

Flickering her gaze back to Draco, who she realised had been momentarily stopped by an attacking Lee Jordan, Octavia's mind swarmed with possible escapes. But the moment that Draco grabbed Lee's head and snapped his neck like it was nothing but straw, she realised; today, Octavia would be captured.

Sobbing horridly, Octavia raised her shaky hand, aiming her wand at the two Death Eaters duelling Hermione and Ron. She inhaled sharply, focusing her mind on the image of flames and death, closing her eyes as she shouted, " _Confringo!_ "

Surges of roaring flames erupted from her wand, soaring right toward Adrian and Lucius before it threw them into a nearby building, blasting them through a window. With the lack of screams, she suspected that it hadn't killed the Death Eaters.

Hermione's gaze darted to Octavia, brown eyes widening as she saw her cousin toss her wand to the ground in defeat, sobbing like a child as she mouthed one word. _Run_.

Ron snatched Hermione's hand, taking off at sprint through the chaos, following Octavia's commands with Hermione shouting out for her cousin. But Octavia didn't follow. She only broke down into a fit of sobs as Draco reached her.

Shutting her eyes tightly, Octavia whimpered as Draco grabbed her arms and spun her around, pain shooting through her broken ankle sharply. A choked sob escaped her lips as he snatched a fistful of her hair and whacked her forehead off the dumpster, rendering her unconscious instantly.

The last thing she remembered before being totally submerged in darkness was his voice. Two words that killed her soul and heart before she fell limp against him, his muscular arms holding her back against his chest.

 _I'm sorry._


	10. Chapter 10

The sound of a nameless house-elf tending to the fire filled the room, the crackles and pops of the dancing orange flames hissing out. There wasn't much in the cold room, other than a bed, fireplace and dresser, with only one lumpy armchair facing the only window in the room. The view was nothing but clouds and mist, given the height of the bedroom, as well as the morning wintery fog. Two doors were carved into the rough stone walls at opposite ends of the circular tower room, one for the recently added bathroom, and the other for the exit.

Draco sat on the edge of the four-poster bed, facing the unconscious woman beneath the thick layers of blankets. The blonde woman had been bathed by the house-elf by the fireplace a mere hour ago, and now radiated the fragrance Draco had yearned after for years. Three years, to be precise.

Octavia's hair, whilst chopped to shoulder length, now spiralled in the tight curls he loved he so much, framing her sickly pale face as she breathed evenly in her deep slumber. Draco's hand gently cupped her hollow cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over her blemished skin as he gazed down at her in her tranquil silence. Her slumber was no longer induced by the injury he had caused her, but by a spell of his own creation. He had constructed the sleeping spell for that very occasion; the day he had returned Octavia to her rightful place.

It was a calming charm, submerging its victim in a deep, dreamless slumber, only to awake once fully rested. No nightmares would plague her fragile mind for the duration of the charm, a detail he had spent considerable time on perfecting just for her.

The room began to warm with the heat of the roaring fire beneath the mantle, circular walls constructing the bedroom in the highest tower of Malfoy Manor. The thick wooden door behind him was wide open, as he had only entered moments ago to visit briefly. With the capture of twenty-seven Order of the Phoenix affiliates, Draco had a lot to tend to, but needed a moment with Octavia beforehand.

Soft thuds sounded out, footsteps nearing the open door, a new presence tickling at Draco's senses. He didn't need to turn around to know who had arrived and stopped in the doorway, presumably leaning against the doorframe in a usual arrogant manner. Draco had known that he would come.

Draco turned his head to the side, his gaze fixing on the carpet; not quite looking over his shoulder, but ordering the newcomer to speak with the silent gesture.

"I wanted to see her," Blaise said after a moment of silence, his crisp tone contradicting with the nostalgic reasons for his visit.

"Why?" Draco responded coolly, returning his gaze to the sleeping beauty on the bed.

"You know why, My Lord." Blaise answered robotically, no feeling behind the formal title he spoke.

Draco remained silent as his silver gaze rested on the long eyelashes of Octavia, a smirk tugging at his lips as drool trickled down her cheek. Wiping away the drool with his long index finger, Draco had to remind himself of the companion in the doorway, almost forgetting that the world didn't revolve around the girl in the bed.

"Come another time," Draco ordered coolly, a sharpness to his tone. "Octavia needs to rest for now."

"Yes, My Lord." Blaise drawled, pushing himself from the doorframe, sparing a lingering glance at the sleeping figure.

The sound of retreating footsteps alerted Draco to the fact that Blaise had taken his leave. Now alone with Octavia, except the house-elf that continued to tend to the fire, Draco cupped her cheek gently and lowered his face to hers. His soft lips pressed gently onto her cracked lips, kissing her tenderly for a moment before pulling away.

His soft gaze moved up to the patched wound on her forehead from when he had whacked her head onto a dumpster. He probably should have used magic to render her unconscious, but he had acted on impulse, desperate to not give her a mere millisecond to escape. He had made that mistake back at the abbey and years ago at Hogwarts. Draco just hoped that she would forgive him for it. And everything else. But he was certain she would, in truth. With time, Octavia would come to see things his way. She would soon share his views of the world, or if not, at least accept her role in it all.

"My Lord," Lucius's cool drawl came from the doorway, Draco momentarily taken off guard.

"What?" Draco snapped, fleetingly wondering if he'd ever have an uninterrupted moment with Octavia again.

"We have the Hufflepuff Cup; everything is being prepared as we speak. The ritual will be ready to commence on the next full moon." Lucius advised in his usual cool tone. "The prisoners have been secured in the dungeons, but we were unable to find Miss Hermione Granger or the Weasley boy."

"Did anyone else manage to evade you?" Draco growled dangerously, implicating the blame to rest with Lucius.

"Two others, My Lord." Lucius answered hesitantly, almost nervously. "Sirius Black escaped his restraints by transforming into a dog, and managed to take Remus Lupin with him, My Lord. Others are unaccounted for, but we believe that they apparated to a separate location after the battle in the abbey."

Draco sighed quietly as he ran his knuckles over the gaunt cheek of Octavia, longing to have a peaceful moment with her. Alas, things had to be seen to, and that day was a very busy one at Malfoy Manor.

"Also, Lord Potter is requesting your presence, My Lord." Lucius drawled, undoubtedly trying to catch a glimpse at the girl in the bed.

Draco nodded once, flicking his free hand to dismiss the false father in the doorway. He presumed that Lucius bowed respectfully before retreating, but didn't turn to check. It felt near impossible to tear his gaze away from Octavia's beautiful face, despite the sickly pale complexion and hollow cheeks. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and could have gazed at her for all eternity.

Draco couldn't resist the smile that twisted at his pink lips as he observed her warmly. The victory was evident in his silver eyes, triumph blazing beneath the affectionate glimmers.

Three years too late, but he had her now, and that is what mattered.

Draco Malfoy, after three years of hunting and searching, finally had Octavia Granger where she truly belonged.

By his side.

* * *

Octavia Granger was simply furious. Every scrap of hurt, betrayal and heartache had morphed deep within her and transferred to her anger. Her entire body vibrated with brutal rage, her hazel eyes wide with fury, short curly hair framing her livid face.

She had awoken two days ago in a circular bedroom with stone walls and meagre possessions, but that's not what stirred and roused her fury, no. It was the fact that Draco Malfoy had put her there, locked away in a tower with only a silent house-elf as her companion. And even then, the house-elf was palpably eager to get the hell out of the bedroom after Octavia had been fed her three meals a day.

Octavia didn't ask the elf questions anymore after quickly realising that the tiny creature wouldn't speak at all, let alone provide her with answers. It mattered naught, anyway. For Octavia knew who had trapped her in a tower, and she recalled everything that led up to the night of her capture. Octavia remembered the battle in the abbey, the presumed abduction of Pansy, the massacre in the muggle street, and most of all, Draco knocking her out by slamming her head into a dumpster.

So when the thick door of the bedroom clanged, indicating that it was unlocked, before the handle turned, Octavia wasted not a single second before scurrying over to the door. As expected, Draco stepped into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him, but he hadn't expected what occurred when he entered her bedroom.

Not a moment before the door clicked behind him, a hand shot out and belted him across the face with surprising force. Octavia's arm reeled back, her hand clenching into a fist, taking advantage of his mild surprise. Draco opened his eyes to meet her gaze, perhaps to attempt to reason with her, but he didn't get the chance, for her fist collided with his nose, earning a sickening crunch from her efforts.

A yelp of agony ripped through the tower room, but the sound didn't come from the assaulted Draco. Instead, it came from Octavia as she clutched her fist in her other hand, wincing at the throbbing pain in her slender fingers. Blood trickled from Draco's nostrils, but he remained perfectly still, as though he hadn't been hit at all.

With her hand now injured, Octavia resulted to other means of inflicting pain on her capturer; stomping on his shoe-clad feet.

Draco stood perfectly still, accepting the wrath of the slim girl in front of him, his jaw clenched tightly as she began kicking him viciously on the shins. He made a mental note to purchase her shoes when she whimpered at her now-injured toes.

"Are you quite finished?" Draco asked coolly as she turned her attention to inspecting her bare toes.

"Fuck you," Octavia spat, all pain in her toes forgotten as she shoved him harshly against the wooden door. "You're disgusting, and I hate you, you fucking monster!"

"I love you too, baby," Draco drawled sarcastically, reclining casually against the wall.

Octavia spat right on his face, literally sputtering saliva onto his lips, an act that she had never done to anyone before then. Draco raised his hand and wiped the offensive substance from his lips before pushing himself from the wall. His cool silver gaze connected with her furious hazel eyes, his body nearing hers, towering over her unfaltering form.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Octavia scowled up at him, almost daring him to retaliate. A foolish invitation, to be sure, but he had no doubt that her bravery stemmed from a place of assurance; she knew he wouldn't hurt her, therefore she could be as feisty as she liked. So long as it occurred behind closed doors, and not in front of the Death Eater army, Draco wouldn't retaliate.

"I have thirty minutes," Draco informed coolly, tucking his curved index finger beneath her chin. "Do you wish to spend our time together verbally and physically assaulting me, or do you desire answers to the questions I am certain you have?"

"I don't have questions," Octavia hissed venomously, her face tilted upwards, aligned with his. "Not for you."

"No?" Draco quirked his brow, enjoying the fire in her captivating hazel eyes. "Figured it all out, have you?"

"Yes." Octavia snarled, whacking his hand from her face.

"And what have you discovered?" Draco asked calmly, stepping around her to approach the simmering fireplace.

"Everything." Octavia snapped accusingly. "You're a Lord, the world's biggest fuckbucket and you're Voldemort's son."

"Ah," Draco smirked, seating himself on the lumpy armchair, facing her as she stomped toward him. "The resemblance gave me away, did it?"

"Don't!" Octavia screeched, stomping her foot childishly, pointing her finger accusingly at him. "Don't you dare think you can joke around with me, Draco Malfoy! I don't want to hear your stupid jokes, I don't want to see your slimy face, and I sure as fuck don't want to be here with you!"

"I do not recall treating you with such disrespect when I was your prisoner," Draco sighed, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his black shirt. "Quite the opposite, actually."

"You lied to me!" Octavia shrieked, her hands balled up at her sides. "You've lied to since we fucking met, Draco! Everything, absolutely everything has been a lie!"

"There are things that I misled you in believing," Draco conceded, nodding once. "But our relationship is, and has always been, authentic. How we feel about one another is no lie. I understand that you are upset, and will be for some time, but you will ultimately come to see things my way. I will not lie to you again, Octavia."

"How we feel about one another?" Octavia repeated incredulously. "I hate you with a burning passion, Draco. I guess you're right, 'cause that's not a lie. That's just the truth, plain and simple."

"Is that so?" Draco quirked his brow. "Tell me; how is it you were unable to produce fire to kill me, Octavia? Was your magic prevented due to your eternal hatred for me? Or do your true emotions rule your abilities, and your heart was unable to end my life?"

Octavia's lips parted as though she had intended to respond, but instead, she stood there, frowning and gaping like a fish out of water, no response able to slip from her tongue. He was right, and she loathed it. She did love him, so very much, but it only served to increase the stings of betrayal at her heart, so she wasn't about to fall at his feet anytime soon.

"If it's ruled by my emotions, then why can't I make fire now?" Octavia frowned, glancing down at her useless hands. She had tried, many times, to produce the flames since her capture. And each time, she failed miserably.

"The bracelet," Draco said, inclining his head at her wrists.

Octavia turned her attention to the silver bracelet secured around her frail wrist, picking at it lazily with her index finger. She had noticed it when she awoke in the tower room, but had forgotten about it quickly when she became overwhelmed with her circumstances. Now that she observed it with more interest, however, she realised that it possessed no clasp, and no matter how hard she pulled at it, the bracelet remained securely fastened to her wrist.

"I cannot risk you hurting yourself," Draco whispered, so quietly that she almost didn't hear him. "It is only a precaution."

Steely silver eyes softened as Draco observed her morphing expression, watching as it transformed to utter anguish. As her face scrunched up and the inevitable tears welled in her spectacular eyes, Draco pushed himself from the armchair. Her pained gaze followed him as he approached carefully, not wishing to startle her. Still, she flinched as he stopped in front of her, his hands grasping onto her arms gently. Her face turned to the side, evading his lips as he placed a gentle kiss on her temple before he wrapped his arms around her body and held her against him.

"I truly regret that it had to be this way," Draco sighed into her short curls. "It pains me to see you like this, Octavia."

In his loving embrace, Octavia resisted the urge to melt against him, focusing on the incredulity of the whole situation to keep her deepest emotions at bay. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair, but it wouldn't change. He wouldn't change.

"You must understand that there was no other option," Draco spoke quietly, feeling her body tremble in his arms as the weeping began.

"I don't understand," Octavia whispered, her voice thick with defeat. "I don't understand how you can do the things you do and think that it's ok."

"This is my destiny," Draco soothed, pulling away from her to cup her face and force her gaze to meet his. "A destiny I wish to share with you."

Octavia shrugged away from him, stumbling backwards as her watery gaze rested on the floor. The anger still burned within her, but not nearly as vehemently as before. The heartache echoed throughout her like blurred memories of pain. She wasn't numb to the conflicting emotions battling inside of her, but the overwhelming sensation of utter defeat had taken her for its own, and she was left with no further strength to fight.

Swallowing thickly, Octavia pushed by him, Draco turning and watching her as she trudged over to the armchair. He saw the beaten energy in her movements as she plopped herself down on the chair, tucking her legs beneath her body, her bum resting on the heels of her feet. Her hands fidgeted on her lap, tight shoulder-length curls framing her blank expression as she gazed at the floor. She didn't look at him, but he knew from her movements that she was inviting an explanation; that she _needed_ an explanation.

Draco waved his hand, conjuring a solid wooden coffee table into the tower room, the furniture appearing directly in front of the armchair. Draco approached the chair she sat on, seating himself on the edge of the coffee table, facing her as she kept her teary eyes fixed on the floor. He clasped his hands together between his spread thighs as he leaned forward, his intense silver stare assessing her blank expression.

"How did this happen, Draco?" Octavia whispered in utter defeat. "All of it … I just don't understand how we got here."

Draco nodded slightly, his silver gaze assessing her forlorn expression, sensing her air of defeat. The least he could offer her were answers.

"The prophecy was predicted long before I was conceived," Draco spoke after a moment of silence, starting from the very beginning to better enlighten her. "Voldemort learned of the prophecy, but misinterpreted its meaning. He believed that he was invincible and that he would not require an heir to take his place upon his death, for he didn't believe that he would die. When the prophecy came about, he split his soul into three pieces: The soul in his body, and two fragments attached to objects."

"The diadem and the cup," Octavia whispered miserably, not daring to meet his gaze. But her peripherals noticed his slight nod, indicating that she was correct.

"Voldemort thought that with the two objects, he would return to life should he die." Draco explained softly. "Details in the prophecy spoke of a baby, but Voldemort didn't wish for anyone to take his place, so he set out to destroy the child. That child was Harry. But before he did this, he made a decision. He learned of ancient blood magic, and completed another ritual. This time, with my mother."

Octavia sniffed quietly, her cheeks and nose damp from her silent tears, listening intently, but feeling as though she was in a dream. It was all very surreal.

"He created a child with my mother, offering her what she desired in life, but something that my father could not give her." Draco continued. "Lucius is unable to create life, so Voldemort did it for him. They saw it as a great honour, and Lucius never saw me as anything less than his own flesh and blood. They knew, of course, that Voldemort had his own motives for conceiving a child. The ritual performed after conception ensured that Voldemort's soul would be connected to that of the child's, so if he died, he could return in the body of his son."

Frowning in confusion, Octavia raised her gaze to his, tears streaming down her cheeks as she snivelled.

"That was his plan," Draco said. "However, the prophecy hadn't been fully predicted at that point. When I was aged one, Voldemort went to kill Harry, but he didn't know that he would die in the process. He didn't know that the prophecy would later speak of two children, as opposed to one. Upon his death, I became a vessel, as did Harry."

"You're … are you going to … bring Voldemort into your body?" Octavia whispered in disbelief and absolute horror.

"No." Draco shook his head. "It is an option, but one that neither myself or Harry will entertain."

"I don't get it," Octavia frowned.

"The prophecy speaks of two leaders taking Voldemort's place," Draco said. "But to do that, both of our rituals have to be complete before we turn twenty-one, otherwise our bodies will remain vessels, and the Dark Lord can return. Harry's ritual has been complete, but without my own, his power will die. We can only survive and exist together. If one dies, the other follows. We are connected."

"But you're using the diadem and the cup in the rituals," Octavia argued. "You said they have pieces of Voldemort's soul in them, so … how do they help you _not_ bring him back?"

"In the rituals," Draco explained, "we destroy the objects. The power of his soul transfers to myself and Harry, but the soul itself dies. It leaves no possibility for the Dark Lord's return, but creates two new Lords in his place. Stronger, united and far more powerful than he ever was."

"And now you have the cup," Octavia whispered. "Because of me."

"You blame yourself for something that was inevitable." Draco soothed, gazing up at her from beneath his lashes. "If you had not informed me of the cup being in the possession of the Order, I would have learned of it regardless."

"How?" Octavia frowned.

"We had already infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix," Draco said softly, almost regrettably. "That is how we knew of your missions; where you would be, how many of you would arrive, at the exact times, what you were after."

"But you didn't know," Octavia argued between small hiccups. "You didn't know that we had the cup until I told you."

"Our informants encountered challenges," Draco sighed. "One perished after he retrieved the cup at Hogwarts, and the other became conflicted by herself."

"Cedric?" Octavia gasped, her eyes wide with horror. "He … He was helping you?"

"He was." Draco nodded once. "He was supposed to drop the cup before disapparating."

"Why would he do that?" Octavia whispered, her face scrunched up. "Why he would betray us?"

"We had his parents in captivity; he had no choice."

"He had a choice," Octavia whined, tears trickling out of the corners of her eyes. "He had a choice and he chose the wrong side."

"He chose his family, Octavia." Draco countered. "He chose those he loved over his morals. It isn't uncommon, is it? One could argue that it is human nature to protect the ones you love most, even if it means betraying your beliefs."

"I killed for him," Octavia croaked, her voice breaking as her face scrunched up in agony. "I killed two people because he died."

Draco ran his fingers through his hair as he sighed quietly. Pushing himself from the coffee table, Draco dropped to one knee in front of her, his hands taking hers gently.

"You did what you felt you had to do," Draco reassured sympathetically. "It is not your fault. Cedric was not supposed to die, but a stray curse caught him. It was a mere accident. People kill and die in war, Octavia. You shouldn't blame yourself."

"Who is she?" Octavia snivelled, her clammy hands cupped in his.

"Who?"

"You said there was a second double agent," Octavia sniffled. "You said 'she'. So who is she?"

Draco sighed, evidently reluctant in revealing the piece of information that she had requested. His soft silver eyes looked up at her as she wept, his hands clutching hers a little tighter than before, attempting to comfort her.

"I'm not the right person to tell you that." Draco said quietly.

"I don't care." Octavia scowled. "You owe me answers, Draco."

"I do," Draco nodded. "I owe you much more than answers, Octavia, but I cannot tell you that."

"Then you can get the fuck out." Octavia hissed, yanking her hands from his. "Leave me alone."

Draco exhaled deeply before rising to his feet. He ran his hands over his face, concealing his forlorn expression briefly before stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets.

"I will return tomorrow. If there is anything you need, inform Dobby," Draco said, staring down at her longingly. "I love you, Octavia."

Octavia averted her gaze to the crackling embers in the fireplace, fleetingly connecting the odd name to the house-elf that waited on her throughout the days. She remained silent, tears blurring her vision as Draco's footsteps thudded out, closely followed by the clang and creaks of the door.

The moment she was alone in the tower room, she had expected the inevitable sobs to assault her without mercy, but none came. Only silent tears rolled down her blotchy cheeks, a depressing silence encompassing her entirely. The bitter taste of defeat licked around her, mocking her cruelly as she stared at the simmering fire.

Before long, Octavia fell asleep on the armchair, the heat of the fireplace keeping her body warm through the cold night.


	11. Chapter 11

Days, nights and hours melted together, indecipherable time slipping through her slender fingers. Octavia didn't know how long she had been locked in the tower, and she couldn't even use the sunlight and moonlight to ascertain the length of her captivity. As she slept frequently, with no set time, she wasn't able to be certain of how long had passed since the battle at the abbey. It felt like weeks, though. Painfully long, tiring and tedious weeks. Perhaps months.

Draco sometimes visited her, but less frequently than she had expected. At times, she would wake in the four-poster bed, certain that she could sense his lingering peppermint aroma on the sheets that covered her, but there was never any sign of the man in the room. Perhaps he lay with her while she slept. Perhaps she merely imagined his fragrance.

Cracks in her mind were already appearing, and she found it difficult to concentrate on one thing for a mere minute. Books had been provided by Dobby, likely by extension of Draco, but she couldn't read more than a page at a time. Even then, she wasn't really reading the words, but scanning them whilst daydreaming instead. Initially, she had suspected that her food had been spiked with calming draughts or something of the sort, but the side-effects didn't cause the confusion she felt. It took her a while to realise that she was depressed.

Adding to her misery, Octavia found herself yearning for Draco's arrival every day. Was it every day? Time was difficult to keep track of.

Company was in short supply in the tip of the tower, so to say she was lonely would be incredibly accurate. During her three years on the run, whilst fighting a war, Octavia was hard pressed for moments of solitude. She had always been in the company of others, even when she longed for peace and tranquillity alone. So to be alone for such lengthy periods of time was taking its toll on her, to be sure.

All Octavia could do to fill her days was sleep, eat and bathe. All the while, her lazy mind was filled with blurry thoughts of those she loved. The fate of Hermione had yet to be learned by Octavia, so she was left to her horrid speculations. Pansy, she presumed, had been captured, but Draco never confirmed these theories. In fact, he barely spoke at all when he visited.

Draco mostly watched her as she gazed vacantly through the only window in the tower, or observed her as she sat by the fireplace, picking at loose threads on the rug. Concern seemed to be a permanent glint in his silver eyes when he was around her, but he didn't speak unless she prompted a conversation. At times she would ask a few questions here and there, but mostly she remained silent. It was too exhausting to speak; draining to think. It all made her impossibly fatigued.

So when the wooden door shook from a loud knock, Octavia didn't even stir in the bed she lay rugged up in. The sunlight outside poured into the dank tower bedroom through the dusty old window, illuminating the dust particles in the air, daring to disturb her rest.

Again, the knock sounded out at the door, but all Octavia did was roll over in the bed, pulling the thick blankets over her head sluggishly. Draco never knocked when he visited her, so she fleetingly realised that it wasn't him at the door, but she didn't care. She only wanted to sleep.

After two additional ignored knocks, the mysterious visitor succumbed to impatience, opening the door with a deep groan and creak. Octavia kept her face buried into her feathery pillows, thick duvets and blankets covering her head completely. The door closed with a click after a moment, steady footsteps approaching the bed she occupied. Once the footsteps stopped by the side of the bed, a sound that resembled a box being placed on the hard floor thudding softly through the otherwise silent air.

The mattress dipped to the side, causing Octavia to move with the slight gravitational pull, but she remained buried and silent. Drowsiness still plagued her, forcing her heavy eyelids to remain shut, but she listened to the newcomer, hoping that he or she would leave. Yet, a part of her felt soothed at the company, and she felt the urge to entertain her guest, but no energy existed within her to do such a thing.

"Not exactly a gracious host, are you?" Blaise's teasing drawl sounded out, Octavia stiffening beneath the blankets instantly. "I know you are awake, Tavs. Come on out."

Octavia scowled into her pillow, shifting further beneath the concealment of the blankets, silently declining his request.

"No?" Blaise teased. "Well, I suppose I will have to return the gift I brought you. Such a shame."

Ever so slowly, Octavia's slender fingers peaked out of the blankets, gripping them before gradually pushing them from her head. She turned her face to the side, her cheek resting on the pillow as she blinked sluggishly at the Italian seated on the edge of the bed, smirking at her triumphantly. Dazed hazel eyes scanned the bed slowly, not detected any signs of the present he spoke of. She scowled at him in complete annoyance and utter disappointment.

"You look an absolute fright, Tavs," Blaise mocked, his black eyes assessing her puffy, yet gaunt face.

"Where's my present?" Octavia croaked, her brows knitted together in offence.

Blaise grinned widely at her, on the verge of laughter at her sheer predictable greediness. Her short curls concealed most of her face, a few strands stuck to her temples and cheeks from the sheen of sweat covering her. But he saw the hazel eyes narrowing at his grin, the lazy and faint indignation seeping from her perspiring pores.

Dim hazel eyes watched as Blaise pushed himself from the bed and retrieved a plain brown box from the floor. It was relatively large in size, cube in shape, and emitted the strangest scratching noises. The box also smelled a bit like urine. Octavia wanted to move closer to the intriguing parcel, but found that she didn't possess the energy to do so. Instead, she watched from the bed, laying sluggishly still, curls fanning over her weary face, blankets concealing her frail figure.

If one thought Octavia to be frail and sickly before, they hadn't seen her in captivity. The food that Dobby brought three times a day went barely touched, as she had entirely lost her appetite. Not even the generous provisions of out-of-season strawberries could tempt her.

"This is your gift," Blaise smirked, seating himself beside her on the bed, facing her as he placed the box on the matters. "It comes with conditions, of course."

"Conditions?"

"You must eat every meal that is brought to you throughout the days," Blaise stipulated, inspecting his perfectly manicured nails distractedly. "You must bathe at least once a day, dress appropriately, and be as productive as possible. That means less snoring and drooling, Tavs."

"Is it from you or Draco?" Octavia frowned, watching the box as it trembled slightly. Her interest was definitely peaked, but she just couldn't summon the strength to move closer to it.

"Draco has permitted the gift," Blaise drawled, unfastening his black robes. "But it is from me, of course."

She watched with vacant eyes as he slipped the Death Eater robes from his toned body, tossing them carelessly on the mattress.

"Honestly, Tavs," Blaise complained, sniffing the air. "When was the last time you bathed?"

"This morning," Octavia croaked. "I think."

"Could've fooled me," Blaise muttered under his breath as he unfastened the top button of his black shirt. "It reeks in here."

"How long have I been here?" Octavia whispered, hazel gazing at his face from beneath clusters of blonde curls.

Blaise's gaze met hers, pity flashing in his black eyes as his stony features softened marginally. She watched as he licked his plump pink lips slowly, as though contemplating a difficult puzzle. After a moment, he sighed quietly, shifting closer to her in the bed.

"Two weeks," Blaise answered coolly, but the concern in his black eyes conflicted greatly with his crisp tone. "You were asleep for the first week. It took time for your body to rejuvenate. It seems that you've made quick work of reversing your restored health, however."

"Where's Draco?" Octavia croaked, frowning as she tried to wrap her head around the time that had passed since her capture.

"Indisposed," Blaise shrugged casually. "Preparing for his ritual."

The shivering box caught her hazy attention again, her brows furrowing deeply as she watched it quake. Blaise followed her gaze, a smirk playing at his pink lips as his black eyes lit up.

"Do you want to open it?" Blaise asked seductively, playing on her weakness for gifts.

A barely noticeable nod was all the response he required.

"Then you will have to unbury yourself from these disgusting blankets," Blaise smirked, but eyed the musky duvets and sheets with distaste.

They weren't unattractive in appearance or design, but reeked of sweat and drool, presumably unwashed for some time. Blaise was certain that Dobby would have been faced with a great challenge in washing the linen, due to the incessant napping of the blonde in the bed.

Octavia didn't shift in the slightest, however, continuing to melt into the mattress as she gazed at the quivering box. Blaise rolled his eyes before pulling the blankets from her body, the blonde making no sounds of protest. His black eyes swiftly scanned her skinny body, clad only in modest black underwear, her skin a little on the pale side. Well, paler than normal at least.

"Dobby!" Blaise called, successfully revealing Octavia from the sheets.

The house-elf apparated into the bedroom, right by the bed, with a loud crack.

"Yes, Master Zabini?" Dobby bowed deeply, a long crooked nose grazing the floor.

"Clean the bedding," Blaise ordered.

The house-elf nodded anxiously, prepared to argue that it was difficult with Octavia still in the bed, but was silenced before he could even utter his words. Blaise scooped his arms beneath Octavia's body, hauling her up against his muscular chest. She rested her cheek against the soft fabric of his grey sweater as he pushed himself from the bed and carried her over to the armchair by the roaring fireplace. The house-elf quickly set to stripping the bed for the first time in a week.

Blaise settled the lazy girl into the armchair, waving his hand to conjure a woollen blanket before draping it over her. She would be cold, despite the flames in the nearby fireplace, due to the fact that she was only dressed in underwear.

"Don't you have clothes?" Blaise quirked his brow, tucking the blanket beneath her bottom.

"Yeah," Octavia whispered, glancing over at the set of drawers.

Blaise followed her gaze for a moment before sighing and conjuring a wooden chair. He flipped it to face the armchair she sat in before he seated himself, observing her with palpable concern.

"When was the last time you ate?" Blaise frowned, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

"I dunno," Octavia shrugged, her eyelids drooped, evidently exhausted. But he wasn't surprised; she obviously ate nothing at all, so her energy stores would scant at best.

"Dobby, bring us tea and sandwiches," Blaise drawled, not tearing his black eyes from O's sickly pale face. "Strawberries and cream, too."

"Yes, Master Zabini." The house-elf responded before he disapparated, taking the damp linen with him.

Blaise watched as she gazed at the fireplace, her brows furrowing and unfurrowing repeatedly.

"I'm not hungry," Octavia whispered after a moment, as though only just hearing Blaise's demands of the house-elf.

"I don't care," Blaise responded coolly. "If I have to imperius you to eat, then I will."

Octavia frowned, meeting his gaze, noticing that his jet-black hair fell over his forehead, brushing against his brows slightly. He was so similar in appearance to the Blaise she had once known, but so very different, she realised. His olive complexion was identical to what it had been in the past, his long lashes the same, his black hair the same. But his dark eyes possessed a hardness that hadn't been there years ago, and his build had increased in toned muscles, taller and wider than before. Yet, he looked at her like he would have done back at Hogwarts if she were sick. He looked at her with concern.

"Why are you here?" Octavia asked, her voice hoarse and gravelly.

"Draco cannot attend to you at the moment, so I am here on his behalf," Blaise shrugged nonchalantly, reclining in his chair.

"You can take me away from here," Octavia whispered, her dazed hazel eyes gazing at him. "You can help me escape."

"I'd lose my head if I did," Blaise smirked. "I think we can both agree that it's my best feature, and I'm quite reluctant to lose it."

She wasn't surprised, but couldn't help but be disappointed. Nodding in understanding, Octavia returned her gaze to the fire, watching as the flames danced and licked fiercely at one another.

"Where would you go?" Blaise asked after a while. "If you could escape, where would you go, Tavs? It's over. We have won. There's no escape, and there's nowhere to go."

Octavia flinched as he said 'we', the harshness of the reality slicing at her brutally. _We_. Blaise supported Draco and Harry, she knew that, but hearing that word come from him was surprisingly agonising. She would never fail to feel betrayed by the man in front of her; the man who had once been her best friend.

A loud crack ripped through the room, Dobby arriving by the pair at the fireplace. The house-elf bowed in a respectful gesture of greeting before placing a tray of beverages and snacks on the coffee table. As the house-elf scurried over to the bed to complete changing the sheets, Blaise pulled the coffee table toward him, moving it to rest between their two chairs.

"Eat." Blaise commanded, his tone suddenly sharp and authoritative.

"Fuck you." Octavia croaked lazily, not tearing her gaze from the flames in the fireplace.

"You wish, Tavs," Blaise grinned widely, slipping out his wand. "I'm way out of your league."

Before she could spit out a half-assed response, Blaise flicked his wand and whispered an unforgivable: _'Imperio.'_

A warm sensation washed over her, taking away all despair and misery, submerging her in a cloud of contentment. A dreamy smile tugged at her cracked pale lips, her hazel eyes glazing over as she met his gaze, blinking expectantly at the handsome Italian.

"Eat." Blaise ordered, tapping his wand against the rim of the tray to further emphasise his demand.

The blonde with hollow cheeks leaned forward in the lumpy armchair, retrieving a sandwich from the tray with a smile on her face. Blaise poured them a cup of tea each as she ate, remaining silent whilst she remained under the command of his spell. It wasn't the preferred action in getting her to eat, but it was far better than watching her wither away to nothing.

By the time Blaise had finished his cup of English Breakfast tea, Octavia had managed to eat three triangular sandwiches and half a bowl of strawberries. He would have liked her to eat more, but if he forced her to continue, he ran the risk of her getting sick from over-consumption.

Waving his wand, Blaise lifted the unforgivable from Octavia silently, slipping the wooden stick back into his pocket. His dark gaze remained on her face as the spell seeped away from her body, but her hazel eyes seemed to retain a vacant glaze. She didn't shriek, scream, hiss insults or throw her usual sass his way. She just sat there, her expression blank and aura as depressing as they came.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Blaise drawled, placing his empty teacup on the tray.

"I hate you," Octavia mumbled, her voice so quiet he barely heard her.

Blaise quirked his brow before tutting in disapproval.

"Well, we both know that isn't true," Blaise drawled coolly. "Still; words can hurt, Tavs."

Flicking his tanned hand in the air, Blaise summoned the brown box to levitate toward them, Octavia's attention transferring to the gift she had forgotten all about. It was so very difficult for her to remember and concentrate. So very difficult.

Blaise pushed the tray to the edge of the coffee table, making enough room for the box as it landed gently where the tray had been.

"Your gift," Blaise declared, reclining in his chair with an air of arrogant nonchalance.

An uninterested expression remained on her face, but she shimmied closer to the box and pulled apart the top regardless. Once the cardboard flaps were separated, revealing the contents of the parcel, Blaise smirked proudly. For a light glimmered in her hazel eyes the moment she peered inside the box, a smile daring to twist at her cracked lips.

"Name it what you will," Blaise smirked, his dark eyes swarming with triumph. "Just don't use my name. It's bad for business."

Octavia dove her hands into the box, grabbing the small dog from inside before pulling it out gingerly. An adorable little Pomeranian puppy wriggled in her hands as she manoeuvred it closer to her, placing the pup on her lap gently. It was absolutely tiny; so small that it could fit in Blaise's empty teacup.

Blaise reached into the box, removing the final object from within. He extracted a small wicker basket containing a variety of items, from puppy training pads and dog toys, to an old photograph of the Slytherin clique back at Hogwarts and a worn leather diary. Blaise tossed the cardboard box onto the floor before placing the wicker basket on the coffee table, Octavia's attention solely focused on the small ball of fur on her lap.

Black eyes watched as a small smile tugged at pale cracked lips, the puppy chewing away on Octavia's index finger. He had suspected that something cute and cuddly would pull her out of her trance. It was difficult to be depressed when in the presence of a puppy … and him, of course.

Glancing at the watch on his wrist, Blaise realised that his time with her was coming to an end. He had business to attend to in the drawing room with the Lords. Preparations had to be seen to for the final ritual.

"Tavs," Blaise said, clicking his fingers to catch her attention.

Octavia blinked, as though momentarily forgetting his presence, flickering her gaze to his.

"Dobby will feed the dog twice a day. Everything else you require for the pup is in this hamper," Blaise informed, gesturing toward the wicker basket on the coffee table. "In it, you will find some of the belongings that were in your backpack the night of the battle. Not everything has been returned to you."

Octavia frowned, something sparking inside of her as she noticed the worn diary in the basket. A strange sensation threatened to pierce through her daze, something familiar but dangerous. A glimmer of life … or was it hope? Yes. It was hope.

"Only your diary and the photograph received Draco's approval to be returned to you," Blaise explained. "The clothes have been discarded, of course. They were ghastly, but will be replaced with finer attire."

Octavia nodded slowly, her mind churning lazily, finding its once functioning abilities. Blaise stood from the chair, extending his hand toward the bed as his robes soared toward him. He snatched them mid-air, his dark eyes never leaving the strange expression etched onto Octavia's features as she gazed curiously at the wicker basket.

"You will be permitted to keep the dog and your belongings only if you adhere to the conditions I mentioned," Blaise drawled, slipping on his robes fluidly. "Once you are healthy, you may be allowed to leave the tower and explore the manor under supervision. Isn't that better than what you have been doing?"

Frowning, Octavia glanced up at him, the puppy still chewing away at her finger.

"Just because your side lost the war," Blaise said, "doesn't mean you have to relinquish your happiness. Take it day by day, Tavs, and you'll be yourself in no time."

With that, he extended his hand and performed the nostalgic action of ruffling her curls. Except, unlike the times before all those years ago, Octavia didn't scowl or swat his hand away. He appeared to notice, and certainly seemed a little put out at her lack of huffy reaction.

Giving her a once over, Blaise hummed in disapproval – or was that disappointment? – before he turned on his heel and sauntered out of the tower room, leaving Octavia locked inside, but not alone. This time, she had company.

Glancing down at the content puppy, Octavia tilted her head, feeling the life burning inside of her, increasing in strength second by second. After a few moments, she allowed a small smile to twist at her dry lips, hazel eyes sparkling with something totally dangerous.

"I will call you Hope."


	12. Chapter 12

It had taken Octavia little more than an hour to create a home-made window seat in the depressing bedroom. Exhausting herself, she had pushed the chest of drawers over to the window – a difficult task due to its sheer heftiness – and decorated the top of it with pillows and blankets borrowed from her bed. Following that, she had asked Dobby to clean the window to perfection, and now reaped the rewards.

The winter sunshine was weak and possessed mild warmth as it radiated through the window, and Octavia relished in the pleasantness of it. She and Hope, her tiny Pomeranian puppy, sat atop the chest of drawers pushed against the window, gazing out at the landscape. Well, Hope slept soundly on O's lap, but Octavia stared out of the window longingly.

As it was the colder time of year, snow obscured the vast majority of the vision offered by the window, but she could see enough to appease her cabin-fever temporarily. Or, more accurately; tower-fever. The solitude that came with being locked in a tower room of Merlin knows where was taking its toll on Octavia. Blaise had ordered that she be productive in her days, lest her pup be taken from her, so she did her best to adhere to the commands. In truth, it had helped.

Still absolutely heartbroken and furious, Octavia attempted to fill her impossibly long and lonely days in the room, sometimes by reading and playing with Hope, other times by rearranging the furnishings and creating activities for herself. That day, the activity consisted of creating a window seat, which she now enjoyed fully. She ate her meals, forcing herself to consume the provided nourishments. It assisted in keeping her mind sharp, and she needed to have her wits about her. For the diary that lay safely tucked beneath her mattress required Octavia to be coherent.

The diary was no use to her at that moment, however. She needed a pen or a quill to assess its abilities to help her in future. As the diary was connected to Hermione's, she would be able to write a message on the pages, hopefully getting a response from her cousin. It was possible that Hermione had been captured along with the rest of them, but Octavia dared to dream otherwise. If Hermione had been fortunate enough to escape, and had her belongings with her, then she would receive Octavia's message.

The chances were slim, though. Octavia knew that. For she had checked the diary daily, and saw no messages from Hermione to her thus far. Perhaps Hermione didn't wish to risk communicating with someone other than Octavia? Perhaps Hermione believed the diary to have fallen into the wrong hands? It was possible. But it was all speculation, and until Octavia had a quill in her hand, she couldn't know for sure.

Yet, hope thrived within her. Octavia relished in the joyous emotion that sparked life in her soul. Still; to claim that Octavia was happy in any sense of the word would be entirely false. For even if she managed to escape with the help of Hermione (entirely unlikely), that would mean that Octavia would have to leave Draco.

Draco hadn't visited her for three days now, and Octavia was ashamed to admit that she longed for his company. She liked to think that she hated him, and she truly tried to do so, but no matter what, she couldn't deny the powerfully horrendous sensations of love and sorrow within her. He had broken her heart, but she still loved him deeply. That hadn't changed over three years, so wouldn't change now. She still loved him, and he loved her. But the despicable actions he performed and permitted would prevent her from accepting him like she truly wished to.

The sound of a lock clanging jolted her from her thoughts, hauling her attention back to the present. Hazel eyes lit up at the prospect of a visitor, while her mind scolded her for such a reaction. Despite the urge to run to the door as it unlocked, Octavia forced herself to remain seated atop the chest of drawers, flickering her gaze to the entrance.

The door swung open with a shudder-worthy creak, Draco stepping into the bedroom, his gaze locking onto her instantly. Draco found himself momentarily frozen in place by the sheer splendour of beauty before him. Octavia's form was illuminated generously by the sunrays that poured into the room from the window, her blonde curls falling freely to her shoulders. Her cheeks were still hollow and her complexion pale, but she was nowhere near as sickly as she had been a few days ago. Even her lips had returned to their natural rosy shade. The white dress that adorned her flowed in all the right places, but accentuated the gained weight at her breasts and hips. She was simply breath-taking in that moment.

Composing himself, Draco kicked his foot back, closing the door with the movement, his gaze remaining connected with her icy hazel eyes. But he saw the glimmer he loved so much in those brilliant hazel orbs, resisting the urge to smile at the familiar affection he identified without issue. Yes, it was merged with hatred, dimmed by despair, but he saw it clearly.

Draco stood in front of the closed wooden door as he gazed at her expectantly, seemingly waiting for some form of greeting from her. She didn't budge. She sat as still as possible, staring at him disinterestedly, a small ball of fluff sleeping on her lap.

Sighing inaudibly, Draco stuffed his hands into his black trouser pockets, strolling toward her by the window. He noticed that she stiffened as his proximity neared, but she made no move to demand that he not approach. Draco allowed his gaze to linger over her bare legs, the hem of her white strappy dress bunched up at the tip of her thighs. Her long legs were still a little on the skinny side, but her ankle had been healed to full functionality.

Draco reached the chest of drawers by the window, wasting not a moment before he pushed himself up to join her on the piece of furniture. He shifted around to face her, but she continued to align her body with the window, her head turned to the side, eyeing him indifferently. Or, at least, she tried to appear indifferent. She couldn't fool him. He knew her too well.

"You are fond of Blaise's gift, I see," Draco observed, glancing down at the puppy that whimpered quietly in its sleep. "Have you named it?"

"Hope." Octavia said, her gaze lingering over the small white scars on Draco's handsome face.

Draco hummed, nodding slightly as he continued to stare at the puppy. _Hope_. Perhaps he should not have been so disappointed by her choice of name for the dog, but he couldn't help but feel a little saddened. It was clear that she was continuing to resist, holding out for the meaning of the dog's name. Draco wanted her to have hope, but she placed it in the wrong side. If she had hope and faith in him, and their life together, she would not be disappointed, and neither would he.

"How are you feeling?" Draco asked, returning his gaze to her, noticing that she assessed his scars silently. She had observed them many times before, particularly when he was her prisoner in the dungeons at the abbey. He knew that they sparked curiosity within her, so he predicted her following words before she could even speak them.

"I'm fine," Octavia shrugged. "Where did you get those?"

Draco glanced down at his shirt that concealed the rest of the scars, using his long fingers to unfasten the top three buttons of the apparel. Once finished, his pecs were revealed to them both, scattered tiny white scars marking his otherwise flawless skin.

"My twenty-first birthday is in two weeks," Draco explained, his gaze on her face as she inspected the scars. "I will continue to receive cuts, and therefore scars, until I complete the ritual. If I don't perform the ritual before my birthday, my body will be covered in scars, and Voldemort's soul will enter my body as a host."

"Because you're his vessel," Octavia nodded, recalling similar information from their previous encounter.

"Unless I complete the ritual, yes." Draco said, his warm gaze drinking in the flash of concern in her eyes.

"Does Harry have them?" Octavia frowned, still assessing the scars on his muscular chest.

"No," Draco shook his head. "His ritual was performed after the Hogwarts Battle, before his eighteenth birthday. But if I don't complete my ritual, his power will be drained back to Voldemort, and he'll merely exist as a secondary vessel."

"Oh." Octavia nodded, her brows knitted together.

"Do you see?" Draco whispered, brushing his knuckles over her hollow cheek. "If I don't do all of this, I will die. Is that what you want for me?"

"Why can't you do the ritual and … just _not_ ruin the world and kill people?" Octavia retorted.

"Because this is what I believe in," Draco sighed, cupping her cheek gently. "This is my destiny. The poison in the world needs to be purged, Octavia, and only the worthy deserve to thrive. Before I met you, I believed the unworthy to be muggle-borns, but you showed me that merit isn't exclusive to blood status. Voldemort himself was half-blood, yet he was a great sorcerer. You are a muggle-born, but your powers surpass that of a pure-blood. You enlightened me to the truth."

"And who is unworthy, Draco?" Octavia scowled. "Who are you to say that someone deserves to live or not?"

"I do not wish to necessarily kill all inferior magical folk," Draco explained. "I only wish to ensure that they remain in their rightful places. I only kill those who oppose my order."

"I oppose it." Octavia snipped.

"You will come around," Draco said, his fingers entwining with her tight curls.

"You said once that you would do anything for me," Octavia said. "Can't you stop all this for me? Can't you do the ritual to save yourself, but change your beliefs? You've done it before, so why not again?"

"It's not as simple as that," Draco smiled sadly. "I have found my place in the world, Octavia. Harry and I _will_ rule the world, and ensure that the hierarchy is restored to appropriate factions. There is no changing that."

"What's the hierarchy?" Octavia asked. "You said power and magical abilities, but you don't want to kill people? I don't know what it is that you want from the world."

"I want order." Draco answered firmly. "Only those who oppose will perish."

"What's your world order, though?"

"I believe that wands have to be earned," Draco explained. "Tests will be conducted for each child at the age of eleven to assess their magical capabilities. If worthy, they will go on to study at Hogwarts, but if they are weak, they will be placed in the appropriate faction."

"What're the factions?"

"Servants, for the completely incapable and inferior," Draco said. "Labourers, for the average. For those capable, but not extraordinary; allocated professions, such as teachers or healers."

"So you want to decide what everyone does with their lives?" Octavia retorted incredulously. "You want to force people to do things they don't want to do and separate them into factions?"

"Yes." Draco nodded, entirely unashamed. "They will live, work and socialise only with their fellow peoples within their faction. It ensures total order and lawfulness. Muggle-borns will be tested upon discovery, and placed into the appropriate division. Everyone will be recognised by their factions rather than blood status. I do not wish for entire peoples to perish or be eradicated, Octavia. I only want what is best for the wizarding world."

"You're completely mad," Octavia whispered miserably.

"When the Triwizard Tournament took place, the Tournament Cup had to select only a few names from absolutely everyone who entered," Draco countered. "The Cup selected the Champions based on capability, resilience and magical strength. Those who it deemed unworthy were not chosen, and merely resulted to be spectators to those who were worthy. It is not madness, but logic and rational judgement that the Cup operated on."

"You're not a cup, and the world isn't a tournament," Octavia bit. "These are real people we're talking about, Draco. People that deserve to live however they want."

"You are acquainted with Luna Lovegood, yes?" Draco quirked his brow, Octavia nodding in response. "Her mother died by the fault of her own magic. The woman thought that she could create a new spell, despite her inferior magical abilities, and died in the process. If she had existed under my rule, she would not have fallen to such a fate, nor would a girl be left without her mother. Peter Pettigrew accidently killed twelve muggles by casting a botched blasting curse, which would not have happened under my rule, for he would not have been granted a wand. Nearly Headless Nick was executed for substandard magic on a Lady's teeth, and was consequently executed. Not everyone who has magic in their blood is capable of controlling it, nor do they all deserve it. Magic is powerful and dangerous, and should not be used by those who cannot control it."

"I can't control it!" Octavia snapped. "I can't control my magic, Draco! So put me in a faction and tell me how to live my life to your standards!"

"You can," Draco replied softly, despite her outburst. "You can control it, Octavia, with practice. The very reason I put that bracelet on your wrist is to prevent any accidents from befalling you. With my help, you will learn how to control it, how to harness your powers, and how to prevent it from killing you."

"Killing me?" Octavia repeated, her face scrunched up in a mixture of incredulity and confusion.

"With your recent emotional turmoil, it is possible that the magic can kill you." Draco explained gently, brushing the pad of his thumb over her blemished chin. "Elemental magic is ancient, and has killed its hosts before. I cannot and will not risk that with you. Once I am at full power, I will be able to harness your magic and calm it, for my powers will be greater. Until then, the bracelet will ensure that it remains dormant."

"That's why I'm here," Octavia spat. "You just want my magic."

"You are here because I love you more than anything in this world, and I will not let you go." Draco countered. "I did not say that I will _use_ your magic. I will only assist you with controlling it."

Octavia puckered her lips in vexation, completely infuriated at the sheer nerve he had. Draco appeared so utterly confident in vocalising his beliefs, in thinking that he had a right to help her with her magic, in believing that she needed his help. Perhaps she did, but that was entirely beside the point.

"This doesn't extend to the confines of the magical world, Octavia." Draco spoke quietly after a moment, his soft gaze fixed on her puckered lips. "Wizards and witches have had to conceal their existence from the muggle world for too long. Under the rule of myself and Harry, that will change."

"What do you mean?" Octavia frowned.

"I mean that our world will be the dominant one. Our race will be dominant, as it is in our nature. We will not have to hide from them; they will learn of our existence and accept our superiority."

Octavia was entirely unconvinced. Not in regards to his motives for her magic, but with the whole lot of it; his grand scheme. She loathed it, detested what it meant, and would not stand by his side like he wanted her to. But in order to fight against it, she needed to communicate with Hermione, and to do that, she had to write in her diary.

"I want ink and a quill," Octavia demanded.

Draco quirked his brow at the swift dismissal of their conversation, making no attempt to conceal his surprise. "What for?"

"To write in my diary," Octavia sniffed as though it was obvious.

"Your diary," Draco repeated, resting his hand on her bare knee, Octavia not making any move to reject his touch. "I assessed it before I permitted the possession to be returned to you. It is strange that the inscriptions are not of your handwriting."

"I haven't written in it yet," Octavia lied with a dismissive shrug. "I found it at the abbey when we got there. Never really knew what to write in it."

"And you do now?"

"I guess," Octavia mumbled. "I don't have much else to do around here. If you want me to die of boredom then whatever, you can just leave me alone."

Draco regarded her with palpable inner torment, concern shining in his silvery eyes. After a moment, he inclined his head, permitting her request for ink and a quill.

"I will have Dobby bring them to you," Draco said softly, his thumb brushing over the smooth skin of her thigh.

"Thanks," Octavia mumbled, no meaning behind the word.

"I know you're lonely up here," Draco sighed, evidently tortured by her pain. "I want to visit more, but it's impossible at the moment."

"I don't even care," Octavia scowled. "I like it better when you don't come."

Draco knew that she was lying – he could see it in her pained hazel eyes. But still, her words sliced at him like sharpened basilisk fangs.

"You're lonely and upset, I understand that." Draco said softly. "A dog is not enough, so I have arranged other means of company for you. This is all temporary, Octavia. Once the ritual is complete, I will be all yours."

"Sending one of your little minions to braid my hair and read me bedtime stories?" Octavia sassed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I think your hair is much too short to braid," Draco smirked, but she didn't seem to enjoy his humour. Octavia only curled her upper lip in response, looking thoroughly disgusted.

The smirk fell from his lips, pressing into a thin line of disappointment instead. He knew that it would take a while for her to soften to him again, but it still hurt to see her in such an unpleasant state. Draco could honestly claim to enjoy her sass and ferocity most of the time, but when it stemmed from true anguish, it only pained him.

Draco rolled up his left sleeve, revealing the same tattoo she had noticed in the muggle street before he had found her. It was blacker than black; seemingly made from still-damp ink of the darkest shade. Two snakes entwined and twisted together, slithering against Draco's contrasting stark white skin. The snakes tangled around each other, as well as a black recreation of the world. Octavia almost scoffed; two snakes circling the world, constricting it, owning it. It was hardly original.

Pressing his long index finger against the heart of the tattoo, Draco's expression morphed into one of mild concentration. Seconds later, a knock rapped against the door, and Draco ceased his peculiar actions at the sound.

He pushed himself from the make-shift window seat and strolled over to the door, opening it without hesitation. Due to Draco's muscular tall form in the doorway, Octavia couldn't see the visitor, but he was speaking in low whispers to the person. In an attempt to decipher the newcomer's identity, Octavia shifted the snoozing pup onto a pillow before sliding off the cabinet and hesitantly nearing the door. She made it halfway across the room before Draco stepped to the side, revealing a woman that struck fear through Octavia instantly.

The woman – if you could call her that, for she seemed to be more of a demon – featured wiry black hair that could give Hermione's mane a run for its galleons in terms of sheer wildness. Black eyes swarmed on the woman's face, wide and practically manic with glee. Her blood-red lips twisted into a feral grin, revealing yellow stained teeth that were a little on the crooked side. If the woman took care of her appearance, she could be quite beautiful, but she wasn't. She was downright frightening.

"Octavia," Draco drawled, closing the door behind the crazy lady after she entered. "Meet Bellatrix Lestrange, my aunt."

Bellatrix almost jumped on the spot with palpable excitement at being referred to as family, her black eyes gazing up at Draco, radiating awe. But Octavia wasn't excited, not by a long shot. She had heard of this woman throughout the years, and knew exactly what she was capable of. It wasn't baking cauldron cakes, that's for sure.

"Bellatrix, meet Octavia." Draco inclined his head to the nervous blonde in the centre of the room.

"A pleasure," Bellatrix gushed genuinely, marching over to a wide-eyed Octavia with her arm stretched out. "It is such an honour, My Lady."

Octavia's face scrunched up at the formal title that should be reserved for royals, not tossed around on silly muggle-borns like herself. Still; she tentatively raised her hand and clasped her fingers around Bellatrix's hand, a shudder of repulsion running down her spine at the physical contact.

"The pleasure is all yours," Octavia muttered, quickly releasing the probably dirty hand of the woman.

Bellatrix didn't seem at all phased by the insult, instead, continued to grin madly, glancing between the approaching Draco and anxious, yet disgusted Octavia. Although, it didn't escape Octavia's notice that Bellatrix flinched slightly and bowed her head as Draco neared. In that moment, Octavia realised; people were terrified of Draco. It was something she couldn't quite wrap her head around. Draco was so kind and compassionate, so how anyone could fear him was unknown to her.

Although, that night in the muggle street of Stirling, Scotland, Octavia had to admit, she had been afraid of Draco. He had possessed such a fiercely cold and cruel demeanour, whilst radiating murderous fury. The memory of Draco snapping Lee Jordan's neck like it was nothing but a scrawny old twig flashed in her mind. Yes. That night, Octavia had been terrified of the man. She shuddered to think of his actions when she wasn't around.

"Bellatrix will visit you every day," Draco informed, pulling Octavia out of her reverie. "Anything you need can be directly requested through her."

"Why can't I just ask you?" Octavia scowled, shuffling her feet nervously. She didn't want this madwoman around her. It was unnerving to have someone as evil as she was, grinning at you in total awe and wonder.

It took Octavia a moment to realise that Draco had slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her body against his. His free hand curled into a loose fist, his knuckles brushing over her cheek as he gazed down at her.

"I will be gone for a few days," Draco said softly, Bellatrix watching in complete fascination. "Bellatrix will see that you have everything you need while I am away."

"Where are you going?" Octavia whispered, the fear of being left alone with the lunatic trickling down her spine, causing her heart to beat wildly. Octavia would much rather be in the company of the devil she knew, rather than the one she didn't.

"No need to concern yourself with the details," Draco soothed, grazing his lips over her forehead tenderly. "When I return, I will come straight to you. Bellatrix will serve you well."

Octavia swallowed thickly as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, her fear of the woman not dissipating in the slightest. Draco's soft lips on her skin lingered for a moment before he sighed and released his hold on her. But Octavia was much too frightened of the other person in the room to step away from Draco. She sought protection from him.

"I will see you shortly, Octavia." Draco said almost sadly, cupping her cheek for a moment before he turned and exited the room without another word. Leaving Octavia with the crazy woman who continued to grin at her widely.

Fear merged with awkwardness as seconds passed, both woman just standing there, staring at each other. Bellatrix eventually broke their eye-contact, glancing around the room before her gaze rested on the puppy by the window.

"That's a nice dog," Bellatrix said awkwardly, her head bowed as she spoke to her superior.

"Uh …" Octavia frowned, glancing over her shoulder at Hope before facing Bellatrix again. "Thanks."

"Do you want to watch me crucio it?" Bellatrix asked eagerly, clearly trying to please Octavia.

"No," Octavia shook her head, her eyes wide with horror.

"What about the house-elf?" Bellatrix frowned, trying so very hard to please her Lord's sweetheart.

"No …. Uh," Octavia hesitated, stepping away from the woman slightly. "Let's just not torture anything, ok?"

"Yes, My Lady," Bellatrix bowed deeply, almost cowering.

"There is something you can do for me," Octavia said slowly, her mind churning away.

"Yes?" Bellatrix asked, perking up noticeably.

"You can tell me who the double agents were," Octavia said, stepping closer to the woman, attempting to be authoritative. "Draco forgot to mention it."

The anxious look that flickered on the madwoman's face informed Octavia that she didn't believe her. Draco didn't forget to mention anything. They both knew it.

"Look, I know Cedric was one of them," Octavia reasoned, determination and apprehension battling inside of her. "Draco wants me to hear it from the person who betrayed me, but I don't think that that's best for me. I need to be prepared, ok? So … If you tell me who the other double agent was, I'll tell Draco that you looked after me really well and that you should be rewarded."

Bellatrix's black eyes light up at the promise, but it didn't wash away the palpable cruelty in those dark orbs. Her evil nature still vibrated around her threateningly, but Octavia stood her ground regardless. The woman was a devoted servant of Draco's, so wouldn't dare harm the girl he loved.

Bellatrix nodded to herself, her rosy lips puckered as she mulled over the offer. Octavia suspected that she hadn't been directly forbidden to reveal the information requested, for if she had, there was no way the madwoman would even consider the offer.

After a few moments, Bellatrix evidently had come to a decision. She looked Octavia dead in the eye as she spoke two words that shattered Octavia's entire world.

"Pansy Parkinson."


	13. Chapter 13

Using a shard of a glass vase she had shattered upon arrival, Pansy scratched at the wardrobe, carving a single line into the wood. The tally joined the others, forming a total of sixteen. Once finished, she took a step back and assessed her work with a forlorn expression. Sixteen days in that blasted room, and still no sign of any visitors or information. No wand lay within her vicinity, no means of contact with the outside world. Only herself and scattered pieces of old furnishings.

By the atrociously tacky and ancient décor in the bedroom, Pansy gathered that she was locked away in an old wing of the manor she resided in. Perhaps it was a punishment to be locked in an old tacky room with stale stench-ridden carpets and peeling wallpaper? Presumably so. Pansy understood the reason for her not-so-obvious cell and lack of company, other than the regularly visiting house-elf that brought her food three times a day and bathed her. She understood that she was being punished for betraying them. For betraying everyone.

Tossing the shard of glass onto the coffee table, Pansy ran her hands over her weary face, her mind flashing with images of the battle at the abbey. Over two weeks ago that fateful night had occurred, but it felt like only yesterday that she had desperately searched for Octavia through the chaos in the foyer.

*.*.*.*.*

 _"PANSY!" Octavia shrieked, her high-pitched, distressed voice ripping through the fog of the battle. "PANSY RU-UN!"_

 _Pansy clutched onto the bag of rations she had procured from the kitchen, panic assaulting her every vein, dread trickling through her body. She had known this would happen. This was the result of her treachery. And now she would pay the price for falling in love with the wrong man._

 _Octavia was no longer calling out to her, but she could hear her struggles, muttered insults and grunts as though she was wrestling with someone. So very near, Pansy drew closer, eyes wide with panic as she raced through the battle._

 _"OCTAV-oomph!"_

 _Before she could reach her friend, Blaise's stoic, blood-spattered face came into her vision, a thudding pain assaulting her head. And then it all went dark._

*.*.*.*.*

Pansy couldn't be certain that Octavia had been captured that night in the abbey, but she sensed it in her gut, her intuition coming to conclusions for her. Octavia had very likely been captured, and perhaps resided in the same manor as she. Undoubtedly against her will, much like Pansy.

The bathroom door opened with a scrape, revealing the house-elf crouching over in the threshold. Kreacher had been Harry and Sirius' house-elf for decades, but had evidently declared his true loyalties to reside with Harry. It wouldn't have been possible for the house-elf to choose Harry over Sirius, had the former not been legally adopted by his guardian at the age of two. It was Kreacher's presence that enlightened Pansy to the identity of her captor. A captor that had yet to visit her in sixteen days.

"Bath is ready, miss," Kreacher groused in a sickly ancient voice.

Pansy allowed her gaze to linger over the tallies on the wardrobe for a moment longer before she turned and strolled passed the house-elf, into the bathroom. As Kreacher had said, the bath was ready; filled to the brim with warm water and frothy bubbles. Peeling the nightslip from her body, Pansy let her attire pool at her feet before she stepped gracefully into the tub. It reminded her of the years before the war, when she would be waited on by her family house-elves, bathed and cleaned daily by the creatures. Pansy was so accustomed to the lack of privacy whilst bathing that she displayed no shy modesty as she lowered herself into the warm water.

Steam wafted up in front of her tired face, obscuring her vision marginally as she relaxed against the porcelain tub. The utterly soothing sensation of water pouring onto her near-black hair caused her eyelids to flutter shut as her body melted in tranquillity. Kreacher poured jugs of water onto head gradually, ensuring that none of the soapy liquid fell over her face or got in her eyes. Moments after, Kreacher employed his expertise to massage shampoo into Pansy's scalp, his long bony fingers moving gently in her hair.

Pansy quickly fell into a peaceful trance as she relaxed, her lips parted in absolute bliss at the exquisite sensation. It was a daily ritual for her since her capture, filling the better part of her morning. But after the baths, Pansy was left with nothing to entertain herself, thereby spending hours upon hours mulling over the events that had led to this.

*.*.*.*.*

 _Snatchers had found them, but how, Pansy didn't know. The hunters hadn't located the camp of the Order, for there was no camp to find. They had holed up, a few weeks ago, in a cabin way up in the isolated highlands of Scotland. But the snatchers had found the small team of Order members sent over to Ireland._

 _When the Order had ceased receiving communications from the Irish resistance two weeks ago, a group was sent to discover the reason. It was unknown whether the IRs had fallen to an awful fate at the hands of Death Eaters, or if they had merely lost their means of communications on the run. It had happened before, with a pack of werewolves on the Order's side. The pack had lost their transistor radio in the process of escaping Death Eaters, so had been unable to maintain contact with the Order headquarters for weeks on end. They had been presumed dead until they had received a message through the secured radio station, Orderwatch._

 _Pansy regretted volunteering for the mission, though. She wished that she had stayed back at the cabin with Octavia, rather than foolishly offering to join the mission to learn the cause of the IR's sudden disappearance. For they had been found by the snatchers. Well …_ _ **Pansy**_ _had been found by the snatchers._

 _She had been out collecting sparse nature-provided food in the woods, collecting a few non-poisonous berries here and there. Only thirty minutes into her gatherings, ropes flew out of nowhere and constricted her body, a silencing spell washing over her simultaneously._

 _At first, she had thought they would kill her. But when she lay there on the grass, berries scattered around her, immobile and silent, but awake and alert, she listened intently to the snatchers discuss her fate. Scabior was the first to realise her identity, ordering Frenrir Greyback to keep his hands off her before summoning Bellatrix Lestrange._

 _It felt like an eternity that Pansy lay there on the grass, the moonlight shining down upon her through the thick trees, mocking her for her foolishness. But when Bellatrix had finally arrived and assessed her appearance, something she hadn't predicted happened. Bellatrix summoned the Dark Lord with a manic, proud grin on her crazy face._

 _And then the worst fate of all transpired for Pansy._

 _Harry arrived._

*.*.*.*.*

Kreacher lathered copious amounts of Moroccan oils into her now-luscious locks, massaging the rare ointments into her scalp to thicken and strengthen her tresses. Pansy had almost fallen completely asleep from the sheer relaxed state that Kreacher's actions had submerged her into. The house-elf didn't speak to her as he stroked the oils evenly through her hair, ensuring that every strand was coated in the rich substance.

It wasn't peculiar for the house-elf to remain silent. He never spoke, probably on Harry's orders. And Pansy had ceased asking questions the day that she had carved the fifth tally onto the wardrobe. So when the house-elf finally spoke after washing out the greasy substance from her locks, Pansy's eyes snapped open in surprise, as well as horrifying realisation.

"The Lord will be calling on you today," Kreacher croaked, thoroughly cleaning her hair of all traces of the oil.

"When?" Pansy whispered, staring at the wall with wide eyes.

"Lord Potter will be joining you this evening," Kreacher responded in his gruff voice, thick with old age and respect. "Miss Parkinson should be presentable for Lord Potter. Our Lord will like that."

Pansy swallowed thickly, not finding her voice – or the words – to respond. Instead, she continued to gaze at the wall, anxiety pooling in the pit of her tummy at what awaited her that very evening. After the things she had done, Pansy wasn't certain of the reception she would receive from Harry. And after the things he had done, she wasn't sure how she would react to seeing him.

Pansy only hoped that her reaction was vastly different from the first time they had been reunited.

*.*.*.*.*

 _"Leave us." Lord Potter demanded coldly, his robes billowing and slithering at his feet as he circled the immobile Pansy on the grass._

 _Bright green eyes, alight with victory, raked over her frail figure, each step he took causing soft thuds to sound out, the crunching of leaves and snapping of twigs penetrating the silence. Six cracks of disapparation vibrated around her, alerting Pansy to the fact that the snatchers and Bellatrix had followed their Lord's command._

 _It was still strange to her that Harry was a Lord –_ _ **the**_ _Lord – and had an army at his beck and call. Harry … He wasn't a Lord in her mind. She couldn't rid herself of the image of Harry from back in their Hogwarts days. The arrogant and humorous boy who constantly grinned, laughed and joked around with his friends._

 _But the man stepping in slow, steady circles around her body was not that boy. His dark aura lashed around him threateningly, his cold and cruel demeanour filling her to the brim with awful dismay. The man circling her was not the boy she had one known. Yet, if that was the case, her heart should not have been beating so wildly from a mixture of fear and excitement. She was sick. Disgusting. An embarrassment to morality._

 _Suddenly, the ropes disappeared from her body, the strange sensation of the silencing spell being removed washing over her. Scrambling to her feet, Pansy panted with sheer adrenaline, her wide eyes fixed on Harry's face. She almost fell to the grassy ground in anguish._

 _Green eyes sparkled much like they did at Hogwarts, his tanned complexion perfectly smooth and flawless, igniting the lust within her that should have been long dead. His perfectly pink lips twisted in that familiar smirk, plaguing her tummy with butterflies of affection and absolute terror. The conflicting emotions battled fiercely within her, but if she could banish just one of them away, it would have undoubtedly been the lust. Not the love, no. The lust. For it was far more dangerous than love and fear._

 _Lust is what caused her core to react to his muscular build; it is what caused her mouth to dry up like the Sahara Desert, and her body to react to the hunger in his piercing green eyes. Whereas the love only served to ache and tear at her heart, while causing it to soar and flutter at the same time. In Pansy's opinion, lust presented a greater moral challenge than love._

 _"The war has taken quite a toll on you," Harry smirked seductively, stepping toward her like a predator nearing in on its prey. "Yet, you are still as stunning as ever."_

 _Pansy swallowed back a retort, her gaze darting over the grass, searching for her wand. Harry seemed to have read her frantic and desperate mind._

 _"Looking for this?" Harry quirked his brow, all of a sudden twirling her wand between his long fingers. "Tell you what; I'll make you a deal, for old time's sake."_

 _Pansy kept her gaze on the wand that twirled in his fingers expertly, hurt and bristled at the realisation that he was toying with her for his own enjoyment._

 _"If you can outrun me, and I do not catch you, I will let you go." Harry purred seductively, closing the distance between them._

 _A shudder of fear and lust ran down her spine as he brushed the tip of her own wand over her parted lips, his green eyes fixed on the pink, inviting features._

 _"And if you catch me?" Pansy whispered shakily, watching as Harry's lips spread into a wolfish grin._

 _"Then I get what I have always wanted." Harry grinned boldly, arrogance and certainty glowing in his enchanting green eyes. He leaned toward her, his body almost towering over hers, aligning his face with hers as he grinned against her lips. "I get_ _ **you**_ _."_

 _A shaky, hitched breath escaped her lips, speaking of the fear surging inside of her, as well as the utterly repulsive desire within her. Harry laughed as he stepped away, causing her heart to clench horridly, the sound reminding her of the boy from Hogwarts that was long gone._

 _Harry didn't wait for her to respond to his offer, for he apparently wasn't asking. She had two choices: escape, or submit._

 _Her trembling hand raised as he extended her wand to her, Pansy taking it tentatively, her gaze never leaving his._

 _"I'll even give you a head start," Harry grinned, brushing his index finger over her parted lips suggestively. "Four seconds should do it."_

 _Pansy stood rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with brewing panic and adrenaline, frozen in place, but desperate to flee._

 _"Run!" Harry snapped playfully, causing her to flinch and whimper in fright. He laughed merrily at her reaction, taking way too much pleasure in her fear as she stumbled back._

 _Harry tucked his hands into his pockets, grinning widely at her as she stumbled backwards, her wand gripped tightly in her shaky hand. A mere second passed, thick with tension, before she turned and bolted into the forestry, disappearing through the dense chaos of trees._

 _Barely a moment after, she was tackled to the grass, wrestled onto her back, and his lips were on hers._

*.*.*.*.*

As rigid as possible, Pansy sat in the wooden chair, her head lolling back and forward as Kreacher combed her damp hair. The nerves at seeing Harry again plagued her ruthlessly, both fear and anticipation crippling her.

An array of dresses levitated in front of her. Kreacher had asked her to select a gown of her preference, but she stared right through them, as though they weren't even there. The last thing she wanted to do in that moment was pick a gown in preparation of her reunion with the devil.

All that Pansy could do was sit there silently, allowing the anxieties and dreads to punish her for her betrayal. Her betrayal on everyone she loved, from both sides of the war.

*.*.*.*.*

 _Fingers entwined, sweat glistening at her dirty face as she was pushed further into the dewy grass. Limbs tangled together, the moment just about the two of them and no one else; nothing else. Not the war or opposing sides, only passion and desperation. Lust and longing. It could be tasted in the air, polluted with the flavour of the dirt that covered them. Unbuttoned shirts revealed sun-kissed complexions from both bodies that stuck together from the perspiration that sheened on their bodies._

 _His delectable lips pushed harshly against hers, not kissing, but smooshed together as they panted into each other's mouths. A rock pressed painfully into her back as Harry ground himself deep inside of her, but Pansy only felt the delightful sensations he stirred within her. She didn't feel her skin tearing from the rock, nor the brutal realities of her ultimate betrayal. She only felt him on top of her, pinning her down on the grass as he claimed her body and heart._

 _Bouts of excruciating pleasure coursed through her treacherous body, setting every nerve-ending alight with ecstasy. Moans escaped her parted lips between harsh breaths, her hands stretching out, desperate to clutch onto him, but he pinned them down by the wrists, smearing both of them with the dirt beneath the grass in the process. His heavy body pushed against hers with every passionately slow and steady thrust into her tight haven, stretching her completely, setting her soul alight with betrayal and adoration. Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, her knickers laying somewhere on the dewy grass around them, leaving her soaked core open to his ministrations._

 _Thrusts began to lose rhythm as they both neared that delightfully horrid abyss of pleasure, grunts and moans escaping their connected lips. Her walls began to flutter around his shaft, pulsing with the sensations that increased in blinding power as he fervently pumped in and out of her. Pansy's trapped breasts pushed against his chest, the lacy fabric of her bra scratching at his bare pecs, but he continued plunging in and out of her desperately. A shriek escaped her lips as her body quivered, arching up to melt against his as she climaxed. Harry's body tensed impossibly before a shudder ran through him and he groaned from the immense pleasure that crashed down upon him._

 _Tangled bodies and limbs jerked and twitched from the excruciatingly delightful sensations that devoured them, Harry's lips twisting into a triumphant grin against hers. He whispered one single word into her mouth, but she didn't hear it, nor did she notice. She only felt a strange warmth spread through her womb, an odd tingling sensation joining the heat of his seed before it dispersed completely, along with the residue of her orgasm._

 _"You have no fucking idea how long I've wanted this," Harry breathed into her mouth blissfully, his hoarse voice laced with absolute victory._

 _Pansy dared not respond, knowing that she could have honestly spoken the very same words to him._

*.*.*.*.*

The Slytherin green silk gown clung to her figure in all the right places, giving the illusion that Pansy had a semblance of curves, as opposed to the skinny body she had acquired over the years on the run. Her dark sleek hair was fastened into a regal bun at the nape of her neck, loose strands framing her painted, anxious face. Expensive jewels decorated her ears and wrists, but no necklace clashed with the plunging neckline of the gown she wore.

As she paced around the bedroom anxiously, her strappy silver heels thudded against the tacky ancient carpet, nerves radiating from her figure potently. The sound of the door unlocking told her that her anticipated, yet dreaded, visitor had arrived. Sprinting over to the bed, Pansy quickly employed a calm demeanour as she seated herself primly, appearing as though she had not a care in the world. For some reason, she didn't want Harry to know just how excited, afraid, furious and anxious she was to see him.

Keeping her indifferent gaze on the wall ahead, Pansy's posture remained poised as Harry stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, evidently waiting for Pansy to acknowledge his arrival, but she didn't spare him a single glance. For if she did, she was certain that her façade would crumble.

*.*.*.*.*

 _Rough bark scraped against her back as she reclined against a tree in the woods. Harry stood directly in front of her, a mere touch away from her body, his hand resting on the tree trunk beside her head. She could feel his calculating green eyes burning into her face, but her own eyes remained averted as she fumbled with the buttons on her crumpled shirt._

 _Harry hadn't bothered to fasten his own shirt back up, leaving it open to reveal his perfectly chiselled chest. It only served to increase the blush on her cheeks as he successfully fastened enough buttons on her blouse before straightening out her dirtied skirt._

 _"Now what?" Pansy whispered, daring to meet his captivating emerald eyes._

 _Harry smirked as he stepped even closer to her, pressing her back against the rough tree trunk, his hand snatching a cluster of her dishevelled hair. Gently, Harry pulled on the fist-full of tresses, tilting her head back and aligning her face with his. Green eyes raked over her swollen lips, glistening with the traces of his saliva and her own. He hummed in approval at the sight, that arrogantly proud smirk still plastered onto his face._

 _"Now, I will give you a choice." Harry said, staring down at her triumphantly. "You can return to the Order, or come home with me."_

 _Pansy blinked up at him stupidly for a moment before a crease formed at her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. There had to be a catch. There was no way he would just allow another fighter to re-join the opposing army in the war._

 _"I don't understand." Pansy admitted uncertainly._

 _"Either way, I will have you." Harry grinned arrogantly, so very sure of himself. "It's just a matter of when. I will allow your return to the Order, if it's what you choose. In time, you'll come back to me."_

 _She watched with an expression of utter bafflement as he released his hold on her hair, fishing out a shard of glass from his robes instead. Pansy quickly realised that it was a mirror fragment, not a piece of broken glass._

 _"Take this," Harry ordered, placing it against her hand. "Whenever you wish to contact me, all you have to do is say my name in the mirror. But if you wish to return to the Order, I want information in return."_

 _There it is. The catch._

 _"When I win this war – and I_ _ **will**_ _win, Pansy – I want you by my side. You and Octavia will be queens, never to be harmed during or after the war. Either way, you will end up with me, so why fight something you know is inevitable? You and Octavia will be safe with us, you know that, and if you do this for me, I will ensure that the Order members are given a fair trial. Contact me when you have made your decision."_

 _Harry pushed his soft lips against hers, stealing a tender kiss from her before he pulled away and stepped back._

 _"I'll be waiting to hear from you."_

*.*.*.*.*

The rustling of robes informed her that he was removing his cloak from his body, but she could feel his eyes burning into the side of her face. A thick silence blanketed the occupants of the room, speaking of things that neither voiced to one another. Pansy knew that he was taking in her appearance, assessing her perfectly flat stomach with realisation.

"You look good, Pansy," Harry complimented coolly, no feeling behind his words.

Harry sighed quietly as he approached her by the bed, coming to a stop right at her knees, staring down at her coolly. His curved index finger pressed against the underside of her chin, tilting her face up, forcing their gazes to connect.

"What did you do with my son?" Harry asked coldly, green eyes lighting up at the sight of her, swarming with anger behind the affection.

Pansy's complexion paled, looking ghostly white as she stared up at his fierce eyes, entirely unnerved. She knew Harry, but she had no idea how he would react to the surprise he had been met with upon entering the room. Pansy had never told him about the pregnancy, but she had always suspected that the very word he had whispered into her mouth that night, seven months ago, was nothing sweet. Pansy believed that the word was a fertility spell, securing her to him.

"I did what I had to do." Pansy retorted, staring up at him defiantly. He had no right to be angry with her lack of pregnancy, for he had only ensured that she conceived his child by means of manipulation.

A gasp escaped her lips as he snatched her arm and hauled her up from the bed abruptly. Harry shoved her up against the wall, his hand gripping her jaw firmly, forcing their faces to align. A shiver ran down her spine at the uncaged wrath blazing in his emerald green eyes.

"Secret abortions in the shadows of the abbey?" Harry hissed against her lips, radiating the darkest aura she had ever felt. "I thought better of you, Pansy."

"Don't think me an idiot," Pansy spat, her lips puckered from his grip. "I went to a muggle clinic, to make sure that it was effective."

"That wouldn't happen to have been around, I don't know, say … three months ago?" Harry seethed, his green eyes burning with rage. "Around the time you ceased contacting me, perhaps?"

"I changed my mind," Pansy hissed through gritted teeth. "I didn't want to help you anymore."

Harry slammed his free hand on the wall, rustling her hair from the sheer proximity of the act, causing her to flinch.

"You don't have that option!" Harry bellowed in her face. "You don't get to just quit being an informer, Pansy! Did you think that I wouldn't find you? Did you think that you could just forget everything that happened?!"

"Yes!" Pansy spat viciously, not back down despite her raging fear. "That's exactly what I thought, Harry!"

"What changed your mind, huh?" Harry snarled, his nose touching hers slightly. "What made your silly brain think that betraying me was the better option for you?"

"You did," Pansy hissed. "The moment I realised I was pregnant, I knew. You planned that whole thing. You _wanted_ me to be tied to you, to be your puppet without questioning anything you do. You really think so little of me that you honestly believed that a baby would make me submit to you."

"What is so wrong with that?" Harry barked. "What is it with you women? What prevents your minds from comprehending that you're safer with us?"

Pansy frowned fleetingly, gradually understanding that he was referring to Octavia too. She suddenly felt a surge of pride on her friend's behalf, realising that O was resisted as well. But it also came with the miserable discovery that she, too, had been captured. Pansy's suspicions had been confirmed, but it was an awful feeling.

"She's here," Pansy said in realisation, swatting Harry's hand from her face.

Harry's upper lip curled at the rejection, but he quickly composed himself to show nothing but passiveness as he rested his hands on the wall, at either side of her head.

"When I returned to the manor this morning, I had a nice little chat with Draco." Harry said nonchalantly, his casual demeanour contrasting greatly with the anger raging inside of him. "He informed me that he, too, has been challenged with the same attitude from Octavia. It causes me to wonder if you both made a petty, childish pact to deny your true feelings, or if you are both simply masochists. Do you enjoy living in an eternal battle between your mind and your heart?"

"It's got nothing to do with how either of us feel," Pansy snapped. "It's about what you have become. What you and Draco have both become. It's about morals and the right thing to do."

"The right thing," Harry repeated coolly, evidently mocking her sensibilities. "Yes, you'd know all about that, Pansy. Tell me; was it the 'right thing' when you were on your back for me, spreading your legs like a wh–"

Before Harry could finish his sentence, Pansy's hand slapped out, cracking harshly against his face, the force of the assault turning his head to the side.

"Don't you dare." Pansy seethed, her eyes turning glassy as her heart shredded inside of her. "What I did – what _we_ did – was wrong, Harry, but don't you dare put that on me. You have no idea what these years have been like for me, how much I've missed you and mourned the boy you once were. What I did was fucked up in so many ways, but everyone makes mistakes, and I learned from mine. I tried to fix mine. I live with my mistake every minute of every day, and I don't need your bruised ego to make me feel any worse about what I did. You're not the boy I knew or loved, and unfortunately, it took me time to come to terms with that, making a few mistakes along the way."

With his face still turned to the side, his cheek pink from her assault, Harry tried to control his breathing, attempting to soothe the anger inside of him. Slowly, he craned his neck, aligning their faces as his furious green eyes were slowly revealed to the attacker.

"You are so very right," Harry whispered dangerously, his faux calmness frightening her more than his prior palpable rage. "I am not that boy anymore, Pansy, and you'd do well to remember that."

"I can remember it every day and it won't change a thing," Pansy countered coolly. "It won't change that I've let you go in my heart. It won't change that I fight against you, and won't fall at your feet like you clearly want me to."

"Is that so?" Harry smirked, his green eyes alight with fury. "Do you need me to persuade you, Pansy? Do you need a taste of what will happen to you for every day that you deny me?"

"Do what you have to do, Harry." Pansy clipped with utter confidence and defiance. Yet fear raged inside of her brutally, threatening to cripple her on the spot. "It makes no difference to me."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, his emerald eyes boring into hers, the smirk on his face turning cruel. Her heart pounded violently in her chest, seemingly about to break out of her rib-cage, but she maintained her false calm composure, staring him right in the eyes. She truly wanted to cry, to beg him to be the boy she loved, but she stood stall, her aristocratic training in place as she showed no traces of emotion. Her brows almost shot up in surprise as Harry neared her, closing the small distance between their faces, his lips grazing over hers.

Her lips tingled as he kissed her tenderly, causing fear to deadbolt at her heart whilst it shredded to pieces. The kiss lingered, Harry savouring the feel of their soft plump skins pressed together, her taste invading his senses.

He ceased the one-sided kiss, but kept his lips on hers as he whispered one word that her crumbling to the floor, shrieking in total, blinding agony.

 _'Crucio.'_


	14. Chapter 14

Hazel eyes darted in the direction of the chipped coffee table by the fireplace. Atop it sat a small inkpot and one single quill. Nothing out of the ordinary, or especially fascinating, but to Octavia, those two simple items called out to her like the songs of Sirens. They tried so very hard to lure her in, tempting her with promises of hope and escape, but she couldn't go to them in that moment. Not with Bellatrix Le-crazy-bitch in the room.

The manwoman seemed to be quite fond of Octavia, but she assumed that to be down to her status as 'Lord Malfoy's sweetheart'. A title she didn't want. 'Draco's girlfriend' would have been better, but he wasn't Draco anymore, and she hadn't been his girlfriend since the Hogwarts battle, three years ago. He was a monstrous Lord of the dark world in the making, and she was his prisoner.

Still, Bellatrix didn't seem to care much about the technicalities of O's circumstances. She only cared about Draco's approval, and by extension, Octavia's approval. So Octavia played along while she had to, sitting on the lumpy armchair, forcing her gaze to fix on the black-haired woman as she riffled through the wardrobe.

Bellatrix had brought generous amounts of spectacular and fine clothes that day, courtesy of herself and Narcissa Malfoy. Apparently Octavia had to dress well, despite being locked in a tower where no one could see her. Except Bellatrix and Draco of course; neither of which she cared about in regards to their opinion of her appearance. So she told herself, at least.

"You could wear this one for the ritual ceremony," Bellatrix suggested, holding up a scarlet red gown, made of the finest silk Octavia had ever seen.

Noncommittedly, Octavia nodded, her shoulders lifting in a barely noticeable shrug. Even though she made sure to barely move, Hope woke on her lap, growling in annoyance before rolling over onto her back. Octavia absentmindedly stroked the fluffy pup's belly as she continued to watch Bellatrix display several items of brand new dresses. The dresses were simply divine, but Octavia wanted muggle attire too. She didn't want to stroll around the tower bedroom, day in, day out, in pristine gowns that cost more than anything she had ever owned. Octavia loved gowns and fancy dresses, but she much preferred muggle fashion; muggle fashion just had the flavour that witch attire lacked.

It was all trivial nonsense though. None of it mattered in the grand scheme of things. Only the diary mattered.

Octavia was now more motivated than ever to contact Hermione through the enchanted diary. Since the discovery that Pansy had been a mole, Octavia felt driven to bring down everything her friend had helped construct. She wanted to free the Order members in the dungeons, re-join her cousin in the war efforts, and fight against the totalitarian world that Draco was laying the foundations for. Of course, the thought of opposing Draco in such a way brought her nothing but heartache, yet she would do it regardless of her feelings for the man. Because it was the right thing to do. Something that Pansy hadn't done.

It still perplexed Octavia to perceive Pansy as the treacherous woman that she apparently was. Pansy and Octavia had been friends – _best_ friends – for almost a decade, so to discover that the pure-blood witch had betrayed her was utterly baffling and heart-wrenching. Octavia had spent the past two days mulling over the revelation, analysing and dissecting every interaction she had experienced with Pansy over the past three years. Only the more recent memories seemed to act as clues to Pansy's treachery.

*.*.*.*.*

 _Octavia was yanked from her thoughts as the door to the dining room swung open, revealing Sirius and Ron entering, blood and dirt smeared over their robes. But they had returned, and that's all that mattered._

 _"_ _What happened?" Hermione gasped, forgetting the kettle and rushing over to Ron, checking for any signs of injury._

 _"_ _We got ambushed," Rob grumbled, but allowed Hermione to fuss over him. "There were more of them that we thought. It's not our blood, so don't worry."_

 _"_ _That's not possible," Pansy shook her head, Octavia perching herself on the kitchen counter. "I saw it very clearly; a total of eight guards set up around the perimeter."_

 _Sirius seated himself at the dining table, reclining in exhaustion and heaving a heavy sigh._

 _"_ _We don't know why, but there was at least a dozen of them." Sirius said, exertion evident in his weary tone._

*.*.*.*.*

This. This memory was probably the more telling of the lot. A simple, overlooked misunderstanding could have been the greatest clue of Pansy's true loyalties. A Seer, who had specifically detailed the precise number of Death Eaters on site at the Hogwarts rubble, had either been incorrect, or had blatantly lied. Octavia had dismissed this at the time as little more than an unclear vision, but it was so much more than that. It had been a trap, constructed to deliver Draco to the Order.

And Pansy had been a part of that.

*.*.*.*.*

 _"_ _How do we know they want it?" Cho asked. "We don't even know if they know about it."_

 _"_ _They do," Pansy stated firmly. "I could feel it. I could feel the desire and need for it."_

*.*.*.*.*

The Hufflepuff Cup.

Pansy hadn't felt anything of the sort in her visions, but had merely offered her 'psychic' advice in an attempt to persuade the masses. From her certainty that the Death Eaters wanted the Hufflepuff Cup, most Order members had agreed to embark on a mission to retrieve it.

Because of that, Cedric, Fred and George had died, and the Hufflepuff Cup had been brought back to headquarters. Leaving it in the vicinity of their prisoner, who in fact, was not a prisoner at all.

*.*.*.*.*

 _"It never gets easier," Pansy whispered, holding Octavia's sob-wracked body in her arms. "Knowing what they've become, but still loving them."_

*.*.*.*.*

The kicker. The clue to the reasons behind Pansy's treachery.

Pansy's love for Harry.

It apparently outweighed Pansy's love for Octavia, and her morals. Due to Pansy, they had fallen, on the verge of losing the war.

That is, if they hadn't already lost.

* * *

Muscles and bones were plagued with the lingering aches of the cruciatus curse, delivered to her two days ago by the man she loved. Harry hadn't issued another unforgivable as punishment, but Pansy didn't need him to. Once was enough.

The devil himself sat across from her at the small table by the dusty old window, their untouched dinners wafting up delicious fragrances to their nostrils. Pansy fiddled with the handle of her silver butter-knife, feeling Harry's contemplative stare assessing her cosmetic-painted face.

Unspoken words lingered between them, only serving to increase the density of the tension in the room. Pansy looked everywhere but his eyes, afraid that if she met his gaze for the first time since he had crucio'd her, she would crumble into a fit of tears.

Harry had visited her for dinner that evening, but had yet to speak; their first encounter since he had attacked her with the unforgivable torture curse. He hadn't allowed the curse to assault her body for very long, perhaps only a minute, maybe less, but it had felt like an eternity to Pansy. The pain had only been worsened and prolonged emotionally by the identity of the speaker; Harry.

Pansy wondered to herself if Harry felt any remorse for hurting her. He seemed to be contemplating something, perhaps formulating an apology of sorts, but had yet to vocalise the words she desperately needed to hear. He only assessed her silently, coolly, without visible emotion. But just because he didn't show emotion shouldn't suggest that he felt nothing. The Harry she knew would have felt remorse, and he was still in there, somewhere. Pansy knew it. She believed that the Harry she loved still existed within the Lord across from her. She had to believe it. There was no other option.

"I don't want to hurt you," Harry spoke after what seemed like an eternity of silence.

Pansy kept her gaze on the handle of the knife, watching as her fingers fidgeted with it, rearranging its position constantly. Never satisfied. Always moving it.

"I regret what I did," Harry continued, his tone surprisingly gentle. "You know how I feel about you, Pansy, but I cannot abide resistance."

Remaining silent, Pansy ceased touching the knife and turned her attentions to staring at the untouched roasted duck on her plate. It looked and smelt simply delicious, but she had no appetite to consume such a divine meal.

"You had already accepted me, so you can imagine the anger I felt when you denied me." Harry persisted, a hint of impatience and pleading to his tone. "I acted on impulse, and for that, I am sorry. I will not harm you again, I promise you that Pansy."

Pansy swallowed thickly, the emotions bubbling up inside of her, but she maintained her cool composure. She showed no emotion, or crack in her stoic, yet graceful expression. An upbringing in the pure-blood and aristocratic society had taught her to feign indifference, even when the world crumbled around her.

"Pansy," Harry breathed pleadingly, his emerald green eyes boring into her poised face. "Can you forgive me? Forgive me of my wrongdoings, and I will forgive you for your betrayal."

A crack appeared; Pansy frowned fleetingly, her jaw ticking at his words. _Her_ betrayal? He was delusional, entitled and simply mad. Yet, she wanted to accept him, to accept it all. The logic was undeniable to her; Pansy could appease her urge for survival by accepting the man she loved, and dismiss her morals in favour of her happiness. It may have been disgusting to some, but Pansy could be happy with him. For she loved him like no other. The only challenge was Octavia.

Pansy couldn't see Octavia caving in easily. The girl was a walking contradiction; weak, yet strong. Impressionable, naïve, but stubborn and ethical. Octavia would resist, and Pansy couldn't stand the thought of betraying her twice. The first time had been for Octavia's own good, or, at least, that was Pansy's opinion. An opinion she wasn't so sure on anymore. Even so, it was not her place to decide the fate of others, even if she loved them as much as she did Octavia.

Pansy abruptly decided that she needed to see Octavia before anyone could enlighten her of Pansy's misdeeds. It would be worse for their friendship if Octavia found out from anyone else but her. Either way, though, their friendship may not survive the truth.

"Are you listening to me?" Harry asked coolly, his demeanour changing in a millisecond.

"I want to see Octavia," Pansy whispered.

Harry observed her intently for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table as he considered her request. "It's not my decision, but I'll ask Draco when he returns."

Nodding once, Pansy picked up her fork and knife, using the utensils to slice a small piece of duck from her meal. Harry couldn't resist the small smirk that played on his lips as he followed suit. The two ate dinner in silence, but Harry felt great surges of victory jolt through him. For Pansy had met his gaze.

Harry should have known better than to let his ego get the best of him, though. For there was no such thing as a Pansy without a little scheming and manipulation to boot.

* * *

The fabric of the tent billowed incessantly from the force of the winter wind outside. Several warming charms had been cast inside to keep its occupants from freezing, but the air still possessed an icy chill to it. Hermione and Ron sat in the living room of the tent, huddled next to the modest coffee table, staring at the radio as though it was it their last lifeline. And that's exactly what it was.

Ron fiddled with the dial, trying to clear the static coated voice of the radio host on the private station, Orderwatch. Both he and Hermione were rugged up in lumpy sweaters and dusty old blankets, but the cold wasn't a factor for them in that moment. The radio was the only focus of their attentions. They had tried a total of twenty-six passwords to access the private radio station, finally granted access once Hermione guessed 'lemon drops'; Dumbledore's preferred sweets.

Once the voice on the radio cleared and became relatively intelligible, Ron scooted closer to Hermione, both tightening the blankets around them. At present, the radio host, who sounded an awful lot like Neville Longbottom, seemed to be listing the names of all Order members, and informing the listeners of their status; captured, killed or unknown.

 _'Dean Thomas – captured._

 _Lavander Brown – captured._

 _Parvati Patil – deceased._

 _Cho Chang – deceased._

 _Pansy Parkinson – captured._

 _Octavia Granger – captured._

 _Luna Lovegood – captured._

 _Hermione Granger – unknown._

 _Ronald Weasley – unknown._

 _Molly Weasley – deceased._

 _Ginny Weasley – captured._

 _Arthur Weasley – deceased._

 _Bill Weasley – deceased._

 _Charlie Weasley – deceased.'_

As the announcer went through the long list of Weasleys, Hermione felt Ron stiffen, undoubtedly submerged in total despair. They had known that Arthur, Molly and the twins had died, but they had only just learned of the deaths that had befallen Bill and Charlie Weasley in that moment.

In a gesture of comfort, Hermione shimmied her hand through the blankets, grasping onto Ron's thigh firmly, but he seemed to not notice. At the close of the impossibly long list, the sound of shuffled papers crinkled out of the radio speakers, coated with static.

 _'Before we end the broadcast, I have an announcement for all those survivors out there that want to keep on fighting. In three days, Myself, Moony and Padfoot will be at the place where Arthur Weasley stole and first tried tacos. We will wait from six in the morning until noon for any more survivors, but please come in disguise, as will we. Anyone who wishes to re-join us in the fight will need only order Arthur's preferred type of taco, and we will hear you.'_

 _'And that brings us to the end of our programme. The password for the next broadcast is the answer to the following question: What was the first spell ever taught at the commencement of the Dumbledore Army meetings? We do not know when the next broadcast will be, so check in frequently. Until then, keep safe and keep fighting. You can't win a war by giving up.'_

The voice of Neville disappeared, replaced by irritating static, but neither Hermione or Ron moved to turn off the radio. They only stared at it with hope in their weary eyes, Ron's hand moving to rest on top of Hermione's. If enough Order members heard the broadcast, it offered a great chance for them to reunite and continue in the war with numbers.

They had hope.

Suddenly, Hermione felt something strange. A warmth in her jacket pocket, heating up the skin of her torso. Her eyes widened as she realised what it was, jerking the blankets off her body as she desperately rummaged through her pocket.

Hermione snatched out a small black diary with a worn-out cover and bindings. She flipped it open as Ron watched in a mixture of fear and awe, the pages moving on their own, whipping wildly until they stopped, resting on two blank pages.

Staring at the blank pages intently, Hermione waited with bated breaths, praying to Merlin that the message that would come through was from Octavia, and not her capturers. She hoped with all her might that the diary hadn't fallen into the wrong hands.

Tears of relief welled up in her honey brown eyes as messy scribbles appeared on the left page, accompanied by blots of ink. Blots of ink that took the form of Hermione's codename.

 _'Ninny?'_

* * *

Legs spread, Octavia sat on the floor in an unladylike manner, attempting to teach Hope how to catch a ball. The Pomeranian had learned the catching part fairly quickly, but wasn't so interested in learning how to return the ball to Octavia. It wasn't surprising though, for the yellow tennis ball was bigger than the puppy itself.

Sighing in slight annoyance, Octavia watched as the Pomeranian sniffed around the carpet with its butt raised in the air, the ball entirely forgotten. Octavia really should have retrieved a puppy-training pad for the dog, but was far too lazy to move. So she watched Hope relieve herself on the carpet before summoning Dobby.

The house-elf cracked into the room instantly, bowing deeply as he mumbled respectful words of greeting.

"Hope had an accident," Octavia lied shamelessly, pointedly glancing at the dog now attempting to bury the tennis ball into the wooden floors.

"Dobby will clean," the house-elf assured, snapping its long dingers together, a pale of soapy water and a rag appearing out of nowhere.

As Dobby began to clean up the canine's urine from the decaying floor, Octavia heaved a weary sigh of boredom and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was minutes passed midday, however her assigned companion had yet to arrive. Normally the madwoman would arrive at 12pm on the dot, but today didn't appear to be the case.

"Where's Bellatrix?" Octavia asked the house-elf, the loneliness already seeping into her day.

"Miss Lestrange is in the dungeons, miss." Dobby answered, scrubbing away at the wooden floor. "Miss Lestrange cannot come today."

"Oh," Octavia nodded, her face falling a little.

Octavia wasn't the woman's biggest fan – in fact, she hated and feared Bellatrix – but she was a little starved for company, and didn't have much else to occupy herself with for the duration of the impossibly long day.

"Mistress Malfoy has a gift for you, My Lady," Dobby informed, wiping off the last of the water from the wooden slabs. "Dobby will brings it now."

With her interest peaked, Octavia only nodded in response, not bothering to scold Hope who was tearing apart a single black stiletto. The house-elf packed up the cleaning instruments and disapparated with a bow, reappearing in the same spot a few seconds after.

Octavia remained sprawled out on the floor as Dobby scurried over to her, placing a medium-sized parcel at her bare feet. It was wrapped in shiny silver paper with a deep purple bow stuck to the top right corner.

"Thanks Dobby," Octavia smiled, dismissing the house-elf.

Dobby bowed and disapparated from the tower bedroom as Octavia tore the wrapping paper to shreds with her fingernails. An incredulous expression contorted at her features as the contents were revealed to be a book and a note. But upon closer inspection, Octavia realised that the book was, in fact, a photo album.

Removing the object from the shredded parcel, Octavia read the note atop the hard cover of the book, featuring cursive handwriting so artistic that it bordered on calligraphy.

. . . .

 _Dear Octavia,_

 _Despite having only had the pleasure of making your acquaintance once, I am aware of how deeply my son cares for you. As a token of my acceptance of you, I took the liberty of forming memorabilia of your time at Hogwarts. I hope that we are fortunate enough to meet again soon, but until that time comes, you have my best wishes in regards to your health and wellbeing._

 _Regards,_

 _Narcissa Malfoy._

. . . .

With her brows furrowed, Octavia chewed her bottom lip as she reread the short letter, mulling over what the woman had meant by 'acceptance'. The Malfoys had once been a racist family, but with Draco's differing beliefs spreading like fiendfyre across the wizarding world, it was likely that Narcissa had adapted her views to fit Draco's. Did that mean that her 'acceptance' referred to Octavia's blood status? Or was it much worse than that, and referred to her merging into the family? Octavia hoped for the former.

Tossing the letter aside, Octavia flipped open the photo album to a random page, her expression softening at the images inside. Octavia was faced with a moving photograph that featured she and Pansy giggling on the sofas in the Slytherin common room. It had been taken by Harry back in third year the day that he had stolen Colin Creevey's camera. A smile dared to tug at her lips as she observed the image, photo-Octavia wiggling her toes in Pansy's face as the brunette tried to escape. But Octavia daren't smile, for she knew how her so-called friend had betrayed her.

Flicking the page over, Octavia felt impossibly saddened at the next image: A photograph of Blaise hauling her over his shoulder, spinning her around in dizzying circles as she whacked his back repeatedly. Octavia remembered that day in second year all too well; she had vomited afterwards, whilst Blaise teased her, but as he did so, he had cleaned her up and helped her to the sofa. He had always been such a prat, but one that she responded to. And he had betrayed her too.

Unable to watch the image anymore, due to the nostalgic waves of nausea, Octavia flicked the page over. Her features relaxed entirely, her expression blank. It contrasted with her inner emotions completely. For the picture she now gazed at was of herself and Draco at the Yule Ball.

The night of the Yule Ball had been dramatic, horrible and splendid. In the image, she and Draco swayed to the champion dance in the Great Hall, their gazes connected, both smiling softly at one another. The pure innocence of their brewing affections was palpable in the way they moved together, apparently only aware of the other, and no one else on the dancefloor. On a loop, the sweet image replayed and replayed, and Octavia sat there on the floor, watching it for close to fifteen minutes.

The memory of that night burned deep within her. it was the night that Draco had declared his feelings for her, the night that they had shared their first kiss, and had never kissed another after. Consequently, they had begun to date and fall in love. Well, Draco had already fallen madly in love with her by fourth year, but she quickly followed him into that awfully sweet place that very night. They were each other's firsts and onlys in everything intimate; love, affection, kissing, sex, relationships.

The moment that Octavia felt her heart flutter, she snapped the book shut and tossed it onto the floor with a thud. Scrambling to her feet, she paid no mind to the dog digging into her sugarquills and ran over to the bed. With a few grunts and murmured curse words, Octavia felt around beneath the mattress, clasping her slender fingers onto a leathery book. Yanking out the diary, she sat herself on the bed and just stared at it.

It helped instantly.

Looking at the diary reminded her of what had happened. It reminded her that Draco was no longer the boy from fourth year; the boy who made her tummy flutter and soul yearn for his. She knew that; but her heart, soul and core did not. Still; staring at the diary helped her come back to the realities of the world.

Delicately opening the book to a particular page, Octavia ran her fingertip over the crisp paper as though a message would appear from doing so.

Octavia couldn't explain it. She didn't know if it was a mere coincidence, fate or magic. But whatever it was, moments after she touched the page, words appeared. Words written in Hermione's handwriting. Words that fuelled the hope inside of her, not the Pomeranian barfing up sugarquills on the sofa. Words that may save Octavia and the world for Draco Malfoy.

 _'Where are you?'_

* * *

Draco felt a twinge of guilt inside of him as he walked beside Harry through the damp dungeon corridor. He had promised to go straight to Octavia when he returned to the manor, but had been side-tracked before he could do so. Duties relentlessly demanded his attention, but his thoughts remained on Octavia throughout the days. Draco had no doubt that she constantly thought of him too, but her mind was poisoned by her morals. It was a shame, Draco believed, that she allowed herself such inner turmoil and emotional obstacles. If she were to merely accept the inevitable, Octavia would be an extraordinarily happy woman, loved entirely by a Lord of the new world. Alas, such things would transpire in time, but now was not that time.

Draco forced his mind to focus on the present as he and Harry pushed through the metal barred door to a particularly isolated and dank cell. The two men entered the dingy space, their eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness around them. After a moment, they could clearly see Bellatrix hovering near a restrained prisoner, decorated with heavy and rusted chains.

The prisoner was barely recognisable through the caked layers of dirt, grime and blood, and provided a most putrid stench to the already rancid torture cell. The victim of the day was none other than Luna Lovegood.

Bellatrix bowed – or, more accurately; cowered – for Harry and Draco, her spine curved and wiry black hair shielding her face.

"What have you learned?" Harry asked coolly, his disgusted gaze lingering over the prisoner who was barely hanging onto consciousness.

"She hasn't spoken, My Lord," Bellatrix answered timidly, her voice almost shaking with the fear of her failure. "She continues to fall unconscious."

"Tell me," Harry began, picking at false lint on his pristine robes, "have you always been this incompetent, Bella?"

Bellatrix almost whimpered as she maintained her bowing stance, curving her spine further, the tips of her hair touching the mossy stone ground. Draco took to leaning against the metal bars, his hands in his trouser pockets as he released a weary sigh. It was all very tedious; no prisoner would talk under Bellatrix's interrogations. How could they, when they were far too busy screaming and sobbing? His aunt was hardly the optimal interrogator; she possessed too much hate and not enough self-control.

The creak of another cell door opening caught Draco's attention, but Harry continued to lightly scold Bellatrix, evidently taking pleasure in her total fear. Looking over his shoulder, Draco noticed Blaise exit a cell further down the corridor, but the cell did not have any residents. There must have been another interrogation taking place, Draco assumed. His suspicions were confirmed as Blaise walked in his direction, stepping closer into the dim light of the torches on the walls; blood splattered his tan face, the crimson liquid coating his gloved hands, and smeared across his robes to the point of no return. The robes would most certainly have to be discarded.

Blaise noticed the occupants in the cell he approached, stopping by the ajar door and peering inside. He gave Draco a quick, respectful nod of greeting, but didn't do so with Harry, for he was too busy attacking a screeching Bellatrix with the cruciatus curse.

Joining Draco against the metal bars, Blaise cast a side-glance at the prisoner, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Isn't that the girl Theo took to the Yule Ball, My Lord?" Blaise asked, reclining against the bars.

"It is."

Blaise considered the drowsy prisoner for a moment before he shrugged and peeled off his black leather gloves. As the gloves were completely coated in thick layers of blood, Blaise merely tossed them onto the filthy floor, as opposed to keeping them to be cleaned.

"Leave us!" Harry bellowed, kicking a twitching Bellatrix in the gut as she scrambled to her feet.

Blaise stifled a yawn as the madwoman muttered respectful goodbyes and scurried out of the cell in a hurry. By the expression of rage on Harry's face, Blaise ascertained that the Lord was in a relatively foul mood that day. So he kept his mouth shut, and instead, picked pieces of flesh off his robes casually.

A thud sounded out, all three pairs of eyes darting to the prisoner who had just passed out entirely.

Harry regarded the bloodied girl for a moment before turning his gaze to Blaise. "When will the veritaserum be ready?"

"It will not be effective," Draco drawled, interrupting Blaise before he could respond. "Most of the Order have practised the skill of Occlumency to prevent the effects of the potion."

"This one is weak," Harry countered, gesturing to Luna on the ground. "She may know where Sirius is hiding, so we will try. When will it be ready?"

"Snape informed me that the potion has entered the maturity stage," Blaise responded casually, a hint of boredom to his tone. "An estimated twenty days or so, I suppose."

"You _suppose_?" Harry repeated coolly, his brow quirked.

"I will have to confirm with Snape," Blaise replied without hesitation. "But at present, I can only estimate the duration of the final brewing stages."

"That is not good enough," Harry snarled, his fingers twitching as though prepared to assault his life-long comrade.

"What isn't 'good enough' is your temperament this morning," Draco interjected, regarding the precarious Harry with interest. "I do loathe returning to the manor, only to endure your difficult company. I have other things I could be doing right now, yet I'm here, my time being wasted by your foul mood."

Blaise resisted the urge to smirk, finding that Draco was voicing exactly what he was thinking. Even though Harry and Draco were close friends of his, and had never harmed him during the years following the Hogwarts Battle, Blaise knew his place, so remained silent. Harry and Draco, on the other hand, could say what they wished to one another, for they were equals.

"Forgive me," Harry droned sarcastically. "Am I not behaving to your standards?"

"Hardly," Draco retorted. "Because of your temper tantrum, Bellatrix cannot keep Octavia company for the next few days without upsetting her. Bellatrix will be weak for days, and I don't doubt that Octavia will recognise the aftereffects of the cruciatus curse. So thank you for that."

"I'll take her place," Blaise offered casually, inspecting his perfectly manicured nails.

"Of course you would," Draco responded coolly, giving the nonchalant Blaise a knowing side-glance.

Seemingly unfazed, Blaise shrugged lightly before picking at a small speck of blood on his index fingernail. The speck was so entirely miniscule, that most would need a microscope to spot it. Not Blaise though; to him, it was massive and repulsive. He needed to look pristine at all times.

"How is she?" Harry asked after a moment, twirling his wand absentmindedly as he distractedly gazed at Luna.

"Octavia is as well as can be expected," Draco drawled, his blonde hair brushing over his brow as he assessed Harry. "Is this the cause of your irritability? Is Pansy presenting more difficulty than you anticipated?"

"You could say that," Harry grumbled, stuffing his wand into his robe pocket. "Pansy is hard to figure out."

"All women are," Blaise grinned widely, a montage of previously bedded women flashing in his mind, but one un-bedded woman lingered in his thoughts.

"I crucio'd her," Harry admitted regretfully. "On impulse, of course, but still … Pansy is acting like it never happened. I'm not sure if I'm happy about that or concerned."

"Why did you do it?" Draco frowned, unable to imagine assaulting Octavia in the same fashion.

"Like I said," Harry shrugged, running his fingers through his thick black hair, "I acted on impulse. It concerned me that she wouldn't submit."

"How you expected otherwise is beyond me," Draco responded almost patronisingly.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Harry quirked his brow. "If either Pansy or Octavia treated us with disrespect in front of our army we would have no choice but to retaliate. If we allow their disobedience to go unpunished, we will appear weak. Until both of us are on the throne together, it is not a risk that we can afford. So yes, I acted on impulse, but I believe that it could happen again if she continues to disrespect me. If she behaves that way in front of our followers, her punishment will be much worse than a crucio. Maybe I want to spare her that experience."

Draco fell silent as he mulled over Harry's unquestionably logical words. It was true that retaliation would be called for should Octavia or Pansy defy either of them. Without both rituals being completed, Harry and Draco were yet to become invincible. Should their army of followers see them as weak, they could abandon the cause and destroy everything they had worked for in the process. So until the rituals were complete, and both Harry and Draco transformed into the Lords, the girls had to remain out of sight.

Draco couldn't risk harm to befall Octavia. Even if it was at his own hand.


	15. Chapter 15

Octavia was weak and simply could not resist the temptations laid out in front of her. A generous feast of assorted muggle and wizarding foods were spread across the coffee table by the fireplace. Seated on the floor, Octavia faced the decadent supper, her hazel eyes darting from one dish to the other, whilst Draco sat across from her at the short table. The conditions of enjoying such a meal was to abandon her plans of silent treatment and dine with him. Again; Octavia was weak, and simply could not resist.

"How have you been?" Draco asked with genuine concern and interest.

Octavia frowned as she piled mountains of Chinese take-away onto her plate before adding a healthy serving of Yorkshire Puddings. As she did so, Draco filled her wine glass to the brim with sparkly beige liquid. Octavia identified the beverage as honeywine after a swift glance.

"I asked you a question, Octavia." Draco scolded lightly, setting to filling his tumbler with firewhisky.

"I've been ok," Octavia mumbled, reluctant to speak to him, but not righteous enough to pass up on the food in front of her. "A bit bored."

"A bit?" Draco quirked his brow, eyeing her with a spark of pity. "I would imagine that you've been bored senseless."

Octavia shrugged, agreeing wholeheartedly with his prediction, but not wishing to give him the satisfaction of a committed response. Aloofness was her new form of punishment, since silent treatment had been removed from the interaction.

"Would you like to leave the tower?" Draco asked, watching as she stuffed a whole Yorkshire Pudding into her mouth. His silver gaze twinkled with amusement as he assessed her swollen cheeks, her mouth filled to the brim with the pastry dish. Trickles of gravy coated her bottom lip, the brown substance leaking as she tried to chew quickly. After a few moments, Octavia swallowed with difficulty, almost coughing from the lumps of food that had been pushed down her throat.

"Leave the tower?" Octavia choked out, her throat a little hoarse. "You would … You'll let me leave here?"

"Not the manor," Draco smirked. "But I may permit a temporary reprieve from this room."

"Really?" Octavia frowned in total disbelief.

"You are surprised?" Draco raised his brows, swirling his tumbler leisurely.

"Well … yeah," Octavia scrunched up her face. "What if I tried to escape or something?"

Draco grinned widely, seemingly on the verge of laughing at her. "And where could you possibly go? Impenetrable wards surround the property, guards are stationed around the perimeter, and you will be chaperoned when you leave the tower. I am not concerned."

Octavia didn't share his humorous attitude, and instead, took offence to his mocking of her thoughts. But Draco was correct; if the wards were impenetrable, and guards were stations around the perimeter, Octavia wouldn't stand a chance, even if she had a wand – which she didn't.

Draco assessed her forlorn expression, as though she had just been issued the worst revelations of all time. He saw the faltering hope in her sparkly hazel eyes, feeling a little saddened by her evident desire to flee. To escape him and his world order.

"This is your life now, Octavia," Draco sighed gently, seemingly trying to comfort her, but evidently dejected by her miserable temperament. "You can be happy – you _should_ be happy, if you let yourself. You are here, with me; a powerful man who loves you more than anything and anyone else in this world, but you torture yourself relentlessly. Why can't you just … accept it? Why do you deny yourself the happiness you deserve?"

"Did you think I would be happy when you brought me here?" Octavia frowned, genuinely baffled. "Did you really think that whether you kidnapped me at the abbey or at Hogwarts that I would just go along with it and be happy?"

"I had other plans in motion for the aftermath of the Hogwarts Battle," Draco admitted.

"Other plans?"

"It was my intention to obliviate you after returning from the Battle," Draco explained, almost guiltily. "I would not have taken much from your mind, but enough to ensure that you weren't as conflicted as you are now."

"Why don't you just obliviate me now?" Octavia frowned.

Was it absolutely disgusting of her to harbour a sliver of desire for that outcome? If he obliviated her, she wouldn't carry the burden that depressed her daily. She wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that she loved a despicable man while others died at his hands.

That way, she wouldn't feel the horrid anguish at being conflicted between right and wrong. The look on his face told her what she didn't want to hear. It told her that she would be granted no reprieve from the miserable reality she lived in each day, in the inner conflict she was victim to. It told her he would do no such thing because he wanted her completely, mind body and soul.

"I can't do that, baby. I'm sorry." Draco replied softly.

"But you were going to! You said it yourself. If you caught me all those years ago, you would have obliviated me. So why not now?"

"If I had of obliviated you back then, it would've been only slight fragments of fresh memories and manipulations of your mind. But for three years to be vanished from your mind, I'd be wiping too much from your memory. The results would be unpredictable, and I cannot risk that with you."

"I thought you were supposed to be some brilliantly powerful sorcerer," Octavia sassed, mocking him, patronizing him.

"It is not a matter of my power, but a matter of the fragility of your mind, Octavia."

Draco rose from the floor gracefully before approaching her on the other side of the coffee table. Her wary hazel eyes followed his movements, watching with palpable caution and poorly concealed affection as he dropped to one knee beside her. Octavia huffed in annoyance, but shimmied around to face him, quirking her brow expectantly.

"Just give in," Draco hushed softly, brushing his knuckles over her full, rosy cheek. "I'll never hurt you, and I will always love you. I will treat you as the queen you are, respect you and ensure your happiness whenever possible. It truly is not as awful as your mind is tricking you to believe. If you give in, all this – the pain, the misery, the torment – goes away."

"You don't know me at all," Octavia whispered, her brows knitted together as she gazed up at him sadly. "If I gave into you, Draco, I wouldn't be happy. I'd hate myself so much more than I already do. I'd be more miserable than ever, and I'd be betraying my beliefs and the people I love."

"The people you love are in the dungeons," Draco countered gently. "Their lives will be spared for you. They will all be given a place in the new world, provided they pledge their allegiance. If it weren't for your love of them, they would not be granted that mercy, Octavia. By accepting all of this, you can save lives and help create a better world."

Octavia shook her head ever so slightly, her lips parting as though she made to speak, but no words came out. In truth, Octavia was tired. She was tired of the war, the fighting, the death, the mourning, the anguish. Three years of war, beginning at such a young age, had taken its toll on her. But never like this. Never with such utter strength to wipe out and defeat her resilience. In that moment, Octavia was tempted to accept his advice.

In that moment, Octavia was tempted to buy the lies he was selling.

Soft lips pressed against hers, manipulating her evident weakened state of mind, capitalising on the inner conflict inside of her. Draco cupped her face tenderly, his lips caressing hers in the sweetest of ways, turning her anguished and tormented mind into nothing but utter mush.

Worst of all, Octavia kissed him back. She did not cry as she returned the nostalgic kiss, and she refused to hate herself. The self-loathing would have to wait; for in that moment, Octavia felt only a burst of previously trapped love explode inside of her, pouring into the kiss that she suddenly turned fierce and desperate.

Surprisingly enough, Draco ended their kiss rather suddenly, stormy silver eyes gazing into cloudy hazel. He rested his forehead against hers as he released a strained sigh, evidently finding it difficult to refrain from snogging her senseless.

But Octavia knew why he resisted the urge. He didn't want a kiss that had been poisoned by despair. He wanted a kiss from her that she would never give him; one of complete consent, compliance and worship. Not one of misery.

* * *

Pansy's deceivably agreeable behaviour had been rewarded by the man she was subtly manipulating and playing for a fool. Harry had upgraded her accommodations to a lavishly decorated bedroom in the West Wing of the manor. The room was grand, lacked the tacky carpets that she loathed so much, and offered the most splendid view of the gardens via a small balcony. Wards were placed around the bedroom, much like the last, preventing her from attempting to climb down the pipes by the balcony, but she wouldn't have tried such a task anyway. Pansy would not escape the manor; not without Octavia, at least.

Pansy stood by the stone bannister, gazing out onto the lush landscape ahead, the near-full moon providing a romantic beam of white light onto the occupants of the balcony. Harry's arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her back against her chest as his lips wandered. He had begun with mere kisses to her earlobe, but had quickly travelled to the dip of her neck, nipping gently at the smooth skin.

No resistance was met when Harry cautiously removed his arms from around her waist, trailing them down to her hips instead. She didn't tense or flinch as he ever-so-slowly bunched up her satin gown, his lips caressing her neck like one would do to a lover. Pansy realised; they were lovers, were they not? At least, they were about to be. Again.

It was filthy and deplorable, yes. She should not have succumbed to such an act with Harry, but it mattered naught. She was merely allowing herself a guilty, revolting pleasure before she enacted her scheme. What was the harm in indulging herself prior to bringing down all that Harry had built? There was no harm in it; except, perhaps, to her heart.

Despite her compliance, Harry ceased his ministrations abruptly, his face buried into the nook of her neck, his hands clutching the crumpled fabric of her dress midway up her thighs. Pansy didn't question his sudden stillness, for she saw a handful of guards step out of the woods ahead, presumably conducting their patrols. Harry had undoubtedly sensed their arrivals, and stopped what he was doing instantly.

Allowing Harry to detach himself from her, Pansy followed his lead as he guided her into the bedroom silently. Neither spoke, but that was due to the words in the air surrounding them. They didn't have to verbally communicate, for their gazes and actions said it all.

Pansy allowed herself one small smile as Harry closed the balcony doors behind them before he joined her by the comfortable bed. The glimmer in his emerald green eyes matched his seductive smirk and the arrogant air that surrounded him. He didn't hesitate or falter as he grabbed her face with both hands, cupping her cheeks firmly, his lips crashing onto hers instantly.

Returning the kiss just as fiercely, Pansy poured every ounce of her lust, desperation, love and hatred into each flick of her tongue over his. They battled for dominance as he stepped forward, guiding her backwards, towards the bed. The edge of the mattress connected with the back of her knees as they kissed hungrily, Pansy falling back onto the bed as he followed her.

Before she even knew what was happening, Harry was on top of her, his lips crashing down on hers. They moaned and panted into each other's mouths as he pushed her further up the bed, following her as he used one hand to tear open his white shirt.

The buttons of his shirt flew away from him, a couple whacking Pansy in the tummy, but she didn't notice. She only felt his tongue battling hers, dominating her with each swirl and flick. Her hands shot up to his shoulders, helping him hurriedly remove the shirt from his body as their kiss continued desperately.

Harry pushed himself from her body, sitting on his knees between her spread legs as hurriedly pulled at her dress and yanked it from her body. Her sleek brown hair tousled in the process, both she and Harry hastily removing her underwear. His muscular chest fell on top of hers, pressing her into the mattress as he buried his face against her neck. His teeth nipped at her skin harshly, Pansy's back arching, her breasts pushing against his chest as she moaned wantonly.

Feminine hands shot down between their bodies, Pansy's slender fingers unbuttoning his trousers in a rushed daze, fumbling with the zipper as she used her feet to push down the material of his trousers. He helped her by kicking off the pants, both now completely naked, Pansy a slave to the sensations he was assaulting her with.

She moaned as Harry palmed her breasts roughly, the harsh handling sending jolts of pleasure through her body to her wet core. Pansy squirmed beneath Harry's heavy form, her lips parting as he positioned the head of his weeping cock at her entrance.

Harry nipped at the sensitive skin at the base of her neck, pushing the head of his cock against her slick folds, parting them slowly. He nudged his rigid shaft against her entrance, pushing the head in without resistance.

Her body reacted to his every touch, and when his lips crashed down on hers, swallowing her protests, her hands gripped into his hair. Harry groaned as he pushed his long and thick cock further inside of her tight heat, both emitting sounds of pleasure, Pansy's whimpers laced with excitement. A guttural moan escaped her lips, Harry drinking it greedily as he devoured her mouth, his engorged cock plunging inside of her to the hilt.

His body tensed impossibly before a shudder ran through him and he groaned from the immense pleasure that crashed down upon him.

Their deep and desperate kiss continued, their tongues battling fiercely as she emitted a soft moan into his mouth, Harry taking all that she offered him. Smooth legs wrapped around his waist, her body consenting wholly to his ministrations.

Harry hissed at the movement, his cock twitching deep inside of her impossibly tight heat, slick with the juices of her elixir. His lips left hers, kissing a trail down to her neck and settling on that sensitive spot that made her gasp. His tongue twirled and twisted expertly beneath her ear, her hands leaving his hair and gripping the sheets beneath instead.

His smooth and toned arse clenched as he pulled out and slammed back into her roughly, hitting that ribbed spot deep inside of her cunt as she mewed. Her wet heat surrounded and engulfed him completely, the twitching and convulsing trying to pull him deeper inside of her. Milking him.

He proper himself up on his forearms, his emerald green eyes gazing down at her, filled with the same emotion that shone in hers. He stared down at her with glowing green eyes as he slowly slipped out of her, before pushing back in, so softly, so gently.

So lovingly.

His hands moved, slipping beneath her and cupping the back of her head as he placed the most tender kiss on her plump lips, swollen from his touches. With each long and slow thrust inside of her, her walls began to flutter, her eyelids drooping and eyes glazing over. She gasped and whimpered against his lips, Pansy feeling pleasure that he had given her three months ago on the grass of the woods.

Harry's cock jerked inside of her, no longer able to pace himself. Her pleasure had increased, her cunt dripping wet and breathing rapid as she danced on the edge of ecstasy.

He stilled inside of her, their nerves tingling with excruciating pleasure as he waited for the nearing climaxes to disperse. He was going to show her what a real orgasm was, and make her see that only he could give it to her.

Slowly, he pulled his tense cock out of her before thrusting hard into her, his pubic bone slamming against her clit, Harry groaning harshly against her lips. A cry escaped her throat as he buried himself deep inside of her, his teeth biting her bottom lip and pulling at the plump skin. Her legs clasped firmly around his hips, Pansy wrapped her arms around him, holding on tight as he fucked her brutally, surely bruising her aching cunt.

Her nails clawed at his bare back as he pummelled into her with his engorged cock relentlessly, Pansy seeing stars as she cried out, each thrust filling her completely, hitting that excruciatingly pleasurable spot deep inside of her. Her legs quivered around his hips as his pace became erratic and desperate.

Harry growled and groaned against her lips, his brutal thrusts never ceasing to send waves of pleasure through their naked and sweaty bodies. She squirmed frantically beneath him, a high pitched scream tearing through her throat as her cunt clamped down on him, quivering and trembling around his engorged cock.

Sensations of ecstasy flooded their bodies, their orgasms tearing through their every nerve ending, as he slammed into her one last time, their bodies stilling as he shouted out into her parted lips, emptying his load deep inside of her quivering cunt.

She was almost certain he had shouted her name, but she couldn't be sure. Her ears were ringing, her vision blurry as pleasure consumed her, floating in the euphoric abyss he plunged her into, feeling only his cock jerk inside of her.

Pansy didn't feel guilty at what she had allowed to transpire between them. She didn't feel the sorrow or regret at her treacherous actions. For she knew what was soon to come, and she knew where her true loyalties would lie. And they didn't lie with the man buried inside of her to the hilt.

* * *

An ivory silk gown courtesy of Bellatrix and Narcissa adorned Octavia's body, clinging in all the right places. Her figure had never been of the curvy variety, but her body was almost at a healthy state. Her cheeks were fuller, her lips plump and soft to the touch, no physical signs of malnourishment effecting her appearance anymore. Weeks in luxurious captivity seemed to have a positive effect on her, physically speaking. But not emotionally, that's for sure.

Octavia found herself to be more furious than ever before, in that very moment. For the first time since being brought to the manor, Octavia was permitted to depart the tower by Draco's orders. Her presence had been summoned to the drawing room, but not before Bellatrix had dressed her, of course. Octavia could honestly claim to be surprised at her demanded attendance; she couldn't fathom why Draco would want her to witness the second and final ritual.

The ritual was moments away from beginning, and Octavia had been seated on a plush sofa against the wall of the massive drawing room, facing Pansy. The betrayer herself sat on a sofa at the other wall, dressed equally as divine as Octavia, while doing all within her power to avoid Octavia's murderous gaze. That may have something to do with the fact that Pansy was seated intimately close to a handsy Harry.

A handful of Death Eaters occupied the room, but Octavia realised that they were the higher ranking soldiers in the deplorable army. Blaise was one of them, talking in whispers to Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange as Draco allowed Narcissa to embrace him briefly. Octavia's brows shot up as Narcissa released her hold on the stiff Draco in favour of gliding over to the sofa instead, seating herself right next to Octavia.

Now Octavia was the one avoiding another's gaze. Narcissa sat too close for Octavia's comfort, so she glanced around the grand room as though incredibly fascinated and absorbed by its splendour of beauty. Evidently expensive chandeliers hung above in the high ceiling, sparkling delightfully down at the marble floor. Three walls were beautifully decorated with marble fireplaces and mantelpieces, portraits and sculptures, while the feature wall was made of clear glass, providing a view to the main foyer of the manor.

A thick silence fell over the occupants of the room as Harry rose and joined Draco by an erected pedestal in the centre of the room. The shuffling sounds echoed throughout the room as everyone quickly took their places in preparation of the beginning of the ritual. And much to Octavia's dismay, Blaise chose to position himself next to her on the sofa.

"You scrub up alright," Blaise whispered, staring straight ahead as though he hadn't spoken at all.

Octavia scowled as she eyed the side of his tanned face with annoyance, her nose scrunched up in disgust.

"I wish I could say the same about you." Octavia hissed, the corner of Blaise's lips twitching in response.

"Shhh!" Blaise shushed loudly, turning to face her as several people glanced over at them. "Pay attention to the ceremony, Octavia."

Narrowing her furious hazel eyes in utter vexation, Octavia's upper lip twitched, daring to twist into a snarl as she glowered at him. Blaise merely winked in response, a smirk playing on his lips as he returned his gaze to the pedestal. Octavia's glower lingered for a moment before she sniffed snootily and switched her attention to the preparations in the centre of the room. Draco's silver eyes flickered between her and Blaise for a moment before he clicked his fingers, causing Lucius to depart the room immediately.

As she remained silent, wondering where Lucius had gone, while praying to Merlin that the ritual didn't work, she watched Draco and Harry convene in whispers by the pedestal. Blaise leaned toward her again, Octavia not noticing until he spoke in a hushed tone.

"Don't scream," Blaise whispered. "Just be quiet and show no reaction."

Frowning in confusion, Octavia eyed him briefly before her attention was caught by the doors opening. Lucius entered, dragging an old hairy man in torn robes in with him. The unfamiliar man was definitely a prisoner, but Octavia had never seen him before and instantly felt a pang of pity for him.

"Gellert Grindelwald, My Lords," Lucius announced with a respectful bow.

Lucius grabbed the nearly unconscious man by the scruff of his tattered robes and hauled him a few metres ahead. The man, apparently named Grindelwald, landed at the base of the plinth, making no move to attempt escape or scurry away. Instead, he showed no fear as he sat on his knees, raised his chin and stared boldly up at the two Lords.

Draco waved his hand in dismissal, permitting Lucius to take his place by the wall, near his stoic wife. Bellatrix approached the two Lords, bowing lowly – almost cowering, it seemed – as she delicately placed the Hufflepuff Cup on the pedestal. Octavia watched as the madwoman crouched over as she backed away in a mixture of respect, submission and fear.

Out of nowhere, Octavia felt her body tense impossibly, effectively turning as stiff as a board. She couldn't even frown in confusion at the strange sensation, nor could she so much as blink. It took her a moment to realise that someone had cast a spell on her; a spell that was undoubtedly _Petrificus Totalus_.

Bafflement gave way to sheer horror as Draco slipped a silver knife from his robes and approached Grindelwald. The prisoner didn't even flinch as Draco slashed the blade through the air, slicing the man's throat wide open with one single, flawless movement. A scream threatened to tear through Octavia's throat, but it couldn't. It wouldn't escape her. She wanted to scream, cry and run out of the room at the speed of light, but she couldn't move a damn muscle. Fleetingly, she realised the purpose of the spell cast on her, and she suspected the culprit to be Blaise, for his hand took hers gently as though attempting to comfort her.

Unblinking wide hazel eyes darted around the room, flickering between a grimacing Pansy and the perfectly stoic, unfazed Draco. Octavia felt the burning, acidic sensation of bile creep up her throat as her gaze finally rested on the jerking body of Grindelwald, watching as blood spurted out of his neck and mouth, the life gradually leaving his body.

Welling tears obscured her vision, and truthfully, Octavia was glad for it. The cloudier her vision, the less she could see the corpse on the ground. A shudder almost ran down her frozen body at the realisation; the very same hand that had taken the life of the old man was the hand that had caressed Octavia's cheek the night prior. And she had let it.

Harry removed a small vial of blood from his robes, uncorking the vial with his thumb. Draco raised the blood-coated knife to hover above the Cup, allowing droplets of the crimson liquid to fall into the goblet. Once Draco was finished, Harry poured the contents of the vial into the goblet.

"The blood of an equal, in power and strength, offered as sacrifice," Harry spoke clearly, each word enunciated with utter clarity and precision.

"The blood of an equal, in power and strength, offered as sacrifice," Draco repeated, evidently referring to the blood of the poor old man who lay dead on the floor.

Octavia didn't understand where Harry's vial of blood had come from though. Who had been the other sacrifice? It took her a moment to realise; Dumbledore. Octavia was absolutely certain that if she hadn't been frozen in place by Blaise's silent spell, she would have vomited her entire breakfast onto her own lap.

Why on earth would Draco want her to see this? Why did he invite her to the ritual? Or, more accurately; demand her presence. She was surely traumatised for life, and it hardly helped his cause in an attempt to manipulate her to join him.

Suddenly, Octavia felt the spell being lifted from her body, her posture slumping over in defeat instantly. A stifled sob escaped her as she clasped her hands over her mouth, her wide horrified eyes fixed on Draco. She watched in absolute terror and anguish as he used the blade to cut his palm and pour his own blood into the goblet. As Harry did the same, Octavia pulled on every scrap of self-control to not break down in that moment in front of everyone. She feared to think what would happen if she did. She had always thought that Draco wouldn't harm her, but she had no idea what he was capable of; that was never clearer than in that very moment. Octavia didn't know Draco.

Harry and Draco clasped their injured hands together as they stood by the podium, both chanting Latin words over and over again, blood red flames erupting from the Cup. Blue sludge leaked over the rim of the goblet, pooling at its base as the flames danced at the rim, a putrid stench invading the room. Octavia was already finding it difficult enough to not vomit, let alone with the most repulsive odour forcing its way up her nostrils and into her mouth. The stench reminded her of a rotting corpse, death, blood, garbage, and sour milk. It was simply revolting.

With her face scrunched up in horror and anguish, Octavia watched as Harry clicked his fingers, causing the Gryffindor Sword to appear out of thin air. The sword materialised right above the blue flames, the tip of the blade slowly lowering into the pool of blood and sludge inside of the Cup.

A powerful blue blast of light erupted in the room, expanding to all walls, corners and occupants, blinding every single person in the room. Octavia gasped in fright, seeing only bright glowing blue, feeling a cold blanket coating her body. Blaise's hand squeezed hers again, attempting to reassure her, comfort her, or something of the sort. Octavia felt no reassurance or comfort, she felt terrified, alone, miserable. It was the most awful and strangest sensation. Her insides felt cold and empty, void of anything and everything; void of life.

Suddenly the light dispersed and vanished completely, all observers in the room gasping as their current surroundings gradually coming back to them. Apparently Octavia hadn't been the only one to feel the terrible sensation of emptiness caused by the blue light. Blaise released her hand abruptly, but Octavia barely noticed. She only saw Harry and Draco.

The two Lords – and they were definitely Lords now – stood in the centre of the room … but they weren't really standing. Both hovered above the ground, their eyes as black as the darkest abyss in the universe, heads lolled back, black vapour seeping out of their mouths. The vapour twirled, tangled and twisted around their bodies, tying them together in darkness and evil. Power vibrated from the two, causing goosebumps to erupt over Octavia's rigid body, a shiver trickling down her stiff spine as she watched in absolute shock and horror. She could literally feel, see and taste the dark auras that surrounded Harry and Draco, the sheer evilness having her on the verge of sobbing or running. But she couldn't sob, for she was far too shocked to do anything but gape, and she couldn't run, for she was far too horrified to move a muscle.

The Cup suddenly exploded, demolishing the podium and sword in the process. Pieces of metal soared toward the two levitating Lords that appeared to each be in a trance of sorts, but the shrapnel stopped an inch away from their bodies. Metal hovered in front of the Lords before dropping to the ground with clangs and clatters, everyone watching in complete thick silence.

People watched with bated breaths as Harry and Draco slowly lowered to the ground, landing on their feet ever so gently. The black dimmed in their eyes, the vapour soaring back into their mouths until no evidence of their prior trance remained. Within moments, Draco and Harry stood in the centre of the room, their eyes returned to normal, both sporting the cruellest smirks she had ever seen on either of their faces.

And it struck absolute horror through her:

Harry and Draco were now the Lords of the world.

* * *

The day had been exhausting, trying and generally disturbing for Octavia. To witness the ritual had been a most awful experience, for it served to enlighten Octavia to the sheer power of the dark magic used to bring both Harry and Draco to full strength. The realities of the ritual and its consequences were frightening, to be sure. It presented a great challenge in the plans that Octavia was brewing.

Still; she would not and did not relinquish her schemes to overthrow Draco, the man she loved. If she allowed her heart to win the battle inside of her, the rest of the world would lose too. It was a price that she couldn't pay. In saying that, however, after what Octavia had witnessed that day, she couldn't be certain of her feelings for Draco. For the first time since falling in love with Draco, Octavia truly questioned her own sentiments toward him. The evilness within him was alien to her; it was not a trait of the man she knew and loved. But could she really love him if she didn't know him? Octavia was beginning to think not.

For that reason, Octavia sat by the roaring fireplace, the crackles and pops of the flames providing a false sense of tranquillity to surround her. The scratching of her quill pierced through the air, the blonde biting her lip anxiously as she wrote at a hurried pace. Octavia was certain that, given the late hour, she would not be called upon again that night, but wrote quickly from fear of being caught regardless.

The crisp diary pages showed her inscriptions for mere seconds before the parchment absorbed them completely and took them to Hermione, wherever she was. Octavia had waited to answer the question presented by her cousin two days ago, for she didn't have the answer then. But now she knew.

 _Ninny,_

 _I'm at Malfoy Manor in the tower closest to the woods. Pansy betrayed us and she's with Harry … like,_ _ **with**_ _Harry, you know? Oh, and Cedric betrayed us too. Be careful who you trust. I don't know if there are more spies in the Order. I'll try to get more information asap, but I'm not allowed to leave the tower much so it's hard._

 _The rituals are done. Harry and Draco are the Lords and are at full power now. Draco said something about their lives being connected and they can only live together. Not sure if that helps. They killed some guy named Grindelwald in the ritual, but I don't know why._

 _I hope you're safe and stay hidden. I love you Ninny. I'll see you soon … I hope._

 _O._


	16. Chapter 16

Two days after the ritual, and Octavia had yet to see Draco. It was a blessing, really. The last thing Octavia wanted was to see him after what she had been forced to witness. The horror of it still plagued her thoughts, whether she was awake or lost in slumber. The image of Draco slashing that poor man's throat open never left her. Octavia doubted that it ever would. The only positive– if you could call it that – that had come after the ritual was that Octavia had been granted permission to depart the tower. With a chaperone, of course.

That day's chaperone was Blaise Zabini. Octavia didn't know if that was better or worse than Bellatrix Lestrange, in truth. For with Bellatrix, there was no heart-wrenching sensations of betrayal that came with being in her company, unlike the hurt that came with being in Blaise's presence.

The arrogant Italian showed no remorse for his betrayals against her. Instead, he appeared to be quite at ease as he lounged on the plush white sofa casually, inspecting his manicured fingernails as though they were simply enthralling. Octavia sat on the fluffy rug in front of the sofa he occupied, skimming through several books at once. The library offered an incredibly grand selection of reading material, but Octavia found that the privilege of visiting the library would have been better suited to Hermione, if she were in this particular situation. Thankfully, Hermione wasn't at the manor, and was able to continue fighting in the war that had probably already been won by the Death Eaters.

That was the very reason that had Octavia struggling to maintain interest in the abundance of literature that surrounded her. For her thoughts couldn't be wrenched away from the war and her cousin. Not to mention Pansy.

The so-called 'friend' of Octavia's had not met her gaze once during the ritual, and Octavia hadn't seen her around the manor since. Octavia had even made it her priority to wander the manor with her chaperone of the day, just in the hopes of encountering Pansy in the corridors. Her plan was to bitch-slap the hell out of the traitor. A plan that hadn't yet had the opportunity to transpire.

Octavia assumed that Pansy was hiding in the fourth or fifth floors of the manor, or in the dungeons, or in the west wing. Those were the only places that were off-limits to her, so she assumed that Pansy was somewhere in the restricted areas. The dungeons, obviously, held the prisoners that had been captured over the years – well, those that were still alive anyway. Octavia had to find out the location of the dungeons to report back to Hermione. If they planned on a mass-breakout, the location of the dungeons would assist greatly … obviously.

"I must admit," Blaise drawled, a hint of humour to his otherwise cool tone, "you are extraordinarily dull company to have these days."

Not bothering to respond, Octavia climbed sluggishly to her feet and stretched up high on her tip-toes. A yawn that resembled more of a yelp escaped her as the pleasant tingling sensation that came after a good stretch ran through her body. Her white crop top lifted up slightly as she stretched, revealing a sliver of her flat stomach to the observing Blaise. His black eyes lingered over the slice of pale skin before raking down slowly to the high-thigh split in her violet maxi-skirt, regarding her visible milky white leg appreciatively. Octavia didn't notice though, and wandered off into the aisles of the library, searching for more entertaining books than those she had just been reading.

Blaise swung his legs over the side of the sofa, rising to his feet before he stuffed his hands into trouser pockets. He followed her quietly, performing the duties of the chaperone. They walked through countless aisles in the labyrinth of literature, the muggle-born shuffling along prissily, her nose raised in the air. Blaise knew Octavia enough to ascertain that she was on a little mission; his curiosity had piqued.

After a few minutes of following the determined blonde, Blaise smirked once she veered off into the foreign languages section. Octavia was likely the most predictable person he had ever known; or, perhaps, he just knew her too well. He watched as she scanned over the books on the shelves, her nose scrunched up in concentration. It took Octavia a further two minutes to locate the Italian dictionaries that Blaise had spotted the moment they entered into the aisle. Of course, Blaise didn't hint to their location, for it much more entertaining to watch her search with the silly expression that featured on her pretty face.

As she snatched the dictionary from the ledge, Blaise reclined against the bookshelf, his hands in his pockets.

"Planning on writing me a love letter in my native tongue?" Blaise teased. "That's kind of sexy, but a little on the desperate side."

"Actually," Octavia sassed, her gaze on the pages she flicked over speedily. "I'm looking for a nickname."

"Oh?" Blaise grinned wolfishly. "Might I suggest 'The Italian Stallion'? I would also settle for Perno."

"What's a Pino?" Octavia frowned, flicking over another page.

"A _Perno_ ," Blaise corrected with a grin, "is a stud, or a hunk – you know, the obvious descriptions for someone as devilishly handsome as myself."

"Yeah, I'm looking for something a bit more fitting," Octavia retorted, rolling her eyes at his arrogance. "Something like … 'overcompensating asswipe' or 'douchebaguette'. How do you say 'shit-brain' in Italian?"

"There's the Tavs I know and loathe," Blaise laughed. "Come on; I want to show you something."

"I'm not done here," Octavia scowled, searching through the dictionary for a witty insult.

"You won't find anything in there," Blaise rolled his eyes, snatching the book before placing it on the shelf.

Octavia narrowed her eyes at him as he grabbed her wrist and yanked her through the aisles. Making her annoyance as obvious as possible, Octavia stomped dramatically beside him, taking a mental note to return to the Italian dictionary later. He didn't release his hold on her wrist as they trekked through the maze of aisles, but his grip loosened considerably, lowering to take her hand instead. Thinking nothing of it, Octavia allowed him to hold her hand as he guided her through the library, veering off into an aisle dedicated to ancient magical practices.

Releasing her clammy hand, Blaise strolled over to the end of the aisle, Octavia stamping along behind him. Her huffiness gave way to confusion the moment he retrieved an old tome from the shelf and handed it to her. Taking the dusty ancient book, Octavia furrowed her brows as she tried to read the faded gold words on the cover without success.

"It's about ancient magic," Blaise stated the obvious, given the allocated section of the library they were in.

"No shit, Captain Obvious," Octavia grumbled, still trying to decipher the title of the tome.

"Charming," Blaise drawled, almost rolling his eyes at her. "I can only aspire to be as eloquent as you one day."

Giving up on reading the title, Octavia flipped open the tome to the index, scanning over the crisp beige parchment swiftly. Her hazel eyes suddenly fixed on the sub-title of chapter seventeen, understanding washing over her. Blaise seemed to notice too, his pink lips twisting into a smirk as he reclined against the bookshelf.

"The History of Elemental Magic," Octavia read aloud.

"I thought it might interest you," Blaise drawled. "Given your talents."

Octavia nodded in response, not tearing her eyes away from the pages she hurriedly flicked through, desperate to reach the applicable chapter. Blaise watched her for a moment before flicking his hand, wandlessly summoning large square pillows for her comfort.

Too enthralled by the heavy literature in her hands, Octavia didn't mutter a thanks as she slowly dropped to her bottom on the assortment of pillows. Blaise joined her, both leaning back against a bookshelf as she finally found the chapter she sought.

The first page of the chapter detailed elemental magic of the water variety, pictures of the Pyramids of Giza scattered across the pages. As the element was not relevant to her, Octavia only scanned the page, reading a few notes and lines here and there. Apparently the ancient civilisation of Egypt had settled by The Nile in a prime location for agriculture. But the Pharaohs had remained by the water due to the first Pharaoh's ability to control the element.

Only interested in her own ability to randomly produce fire, Octavia flicked through several pages, searching for the element that was relevant to her. Octavia wasn't convinced that she, herself, was capable of elemental control per se, but perhaps some variety of it.

Blaise remained silent as she successfully located the applicable page, images of flickering flames decorating the parchment, accompanied by images of an ancient civilisation. One single sketch drawing of a bearded man, however, sat front and centre of the left page.

"That's Hammurabi," Blaise informed. "He was the sixth king of the First Babylonian Dynasty. He is the first and only person on record with the ability to control fire."

Octavia glanced at Blaise, silently gesturing for him to continue before returning her gaze to the tome.

"He introduced almost three hundred laws during his reign, several of which referred directly to fire and its dangerous nature." Blaise explained "The most famous one is; 'If fire breaks out in a house, and someone who comes to help put it out casts his eye upon the property of the owner of the house and then steals the property of the master of the house, he shall be thrown into that self-same fire.' Hammurabi believed that fire could not truly be controlled by himself or the Gods, and that it was the element of hell and justice. The city he ruled was constantly plagued by floods due to its location, so he tried to use fire to evaporate the water, and was mostly successful."

"Mostly?"

"The final time he attempted to do so, the flames swallowed him whole," Blaise said. "The flood occurred just days after his son passed away, so his emotions were tumultuous, therefore the results of his fire-magic were precarious. It was an accidental suicide."

"Oh," Octavia whispered, glancing at the bracelet on her wrist.

"Kendra Dumbledore reportedly had the ability to control air," Blaise drawled. "Yet she suffocated to death in her sleep. Pharaoh Amenhotep II of Egypt drowned in the Red Sea, despite possessing the ability to control water."

"If they could all control the elements, why did they die by them?" Octavia frowned, turning her scrunched up face to the side to meet Blaise's gaze.

"Emotions," Blaise said. "The magic doesn't stem from the wand or body, but from the soul. Almost all recorded elemental controllers in history have died from their own powers in a sense, except those still alive today, like you. That's why you have that bracelet around your wrist. Your powers are extraordinary, Tavs, but entirely dangerous. With your emotional upheaval, it can't be risked that you harm yourself, even if unintentional."

Octavia nodded in understanding, returning her gaze to the crisp thick pages of the tome. A light almost inaudible sigh escaped her as she ran her index finger over the moving picture of flames. Fleetingly, she recalled a lesson back at Hogwarts for Muggle Studies. She had known most of this information already, but didn't realise that her powers were that severe. Octavia almost scoffed, for she had always yearned to be special, but now that she was, she would give it up if possible.

Back at Hogwarts, Octavia would have squealed with glee at the discovery of her powers and magical prowess. It would have been the possession she craved; uniqueness, and strength. But now? Now it didn't matter. Now, it meant nothing. It couldn't help her, it couldn't be used and it couldn't win the war.

Suddenly feeling very inadequate and useless, Octavia slammed the book shut, dust particles flying up from the old tome at the action.

"Why'd you even show me this?" Octavia murmured, tossing the heavy tome onto the floor.

"You should understand your abilities," Blaise shrugged, unfazed by her surliness.

"It's pointless."

"I suppose I was foolish to think that this would cheer you up," Blaise drawled.

Octavia scoffed indelicately, finding that he was always foolish, in her moody and bias opinion at least.

"I've known you a long time, Tavs, and I honestly don't think I've seen you this miserable since you found out you couldn't have a goblin for a pet." Blaise sighed, no hint of humour in his tone.

"There's nothing to be happy about," Octavia grumbled, shrugging lamely.

Blaise regarded her for a moment, his jaw ticking almost unnoticeably before he nodded marginally.

"Do you think you'll ever be happy with him?" Blaise asked interestedly, a sliver of concern in his otherwise hard black eyes.

"No," Octavia whispered instantly. "Not like this … Not after everything that's happened."

"What would you rather?"

"That he loses the war," Octavia admitted meekly.

"For Draco to lose, both he and Harry must die. Is that what you truly want? Would you rather he dies than for you to stay with him?" Blaise quirked his brow, assessing her forlorn expression.

"Yeah." Octavia breathed, the admission almost physically paining her.

"That's cold," Blaise observed coolly.

"Is it?" Octavia frowned. "I … I don't love him, Blaise. I thought I did ... I guess I kinda still do in a way, but not all of him. Can you really be in love with someone if you don't love all of them?"

"No," Blaise answered instantly, his black eyes swarming with something she couldn't quite put her finger on. "You loved him when you didn't know all of him, but if you can't accept and love the bad, then you don't love him anymore."

"That's what I said." Octavia scowled, scrambling to her feet and grabbing the tome from the floor.

Blaise remained seated as he watched her stomp over to the adjacent bookshelf, Octavia leaning up on her tip-toes to replace the book in its previous spot. After a moment, Blaise climbed gracefully to his feet, placing his hands in his pockets as he approached her. The muggle-born kept her back to him, seemingly gazing at the books in front of her, but Blaise knew better; she was lost in her thoughts.

"Is it because he betrayed and hurt you?" Blaise asked, his black eyes burning into her wild curls.

Silence blanketed them with the serious tone of the conversation, Octavia remaining perfectly silent for a moment as she seemingly processed her own thoughts.

"Yeah," Octavia whispered after a moment, turning around to face Blaise. "But it's also everything else. All the murders, the trying to take over the world stuff, the evil he wants to push onto others. And he really thinks I'll join him … He thinks so little of me that he really believes I'll choose him over what's right."

"Wishful thinking," Blaise concurred, nodding slightly.

"You don't think I'll join him?" Octavia frowned, a little surprised.

"After today; no," Blaise smirked.

"Why not?" Octavia scoffed. "Everyone else does. Everyone else thinks I'll accept it all eventually."

"Not everyone knows you like I do." Blaise responded, shrugging lightly.

"Huh?"

"I know you, Tavs." Blaise explained. "If you still feel this way, you always will. You'll never be happy with him, and you'll always hate what he represents. He won't change for you; so how much can he truly love you?"

"He does love me," Octavia whispered, feeling a little hurt at the contradictory implication.

"Does he?" Blaise quirked his brow. "Is it loving you if he literally locks you in a tower, kills the people you care for, and dismisses your beliefs in favour of his own? Or is that obsession?"

Octavia parted her lips as though to respond, but no words came out – what could she say? Was there anything to say to that? He made a very valid point, and in truth, it was a belief that Hermione had voiced many times over.

"Why are you saying this?" Octavia whispered, the sadness of her situation dawning on her. "It doesn't make me feel any better, you know. It makes me feel like shit, Blaise."

"It's the truth," Blaise countered, unfazed that he had upset her. Blaise never hesitated to issue her with tough love, though, so she shouldn't be surprised. And she wasn't. She was merely irritated.

"So what?" Octavia snapped. "If it is the truth, then so fucking what? If I'm stuck here with him forever, how will your opinion help me? It doesn't!"

"That's exactly why," Blaise smirked, ruffling her curls before she violently smacked his hand away. "What if you're not stuck here forever?"

"What are you talking about?" Octavia whined impatiently, stomping her foot like a toddler.

"I'm talking about a deal." Blaise informed, stepping closer to her. "One that benefits the both of us."

"A deal?" Octavia repeatedly sceptically, whilst being cornered by the approaching Blaise.

"A deal," Blaise smirked, backing her into the bookshelf.

Octavia eyed him cautiously as he placed his hand on the shelf beside her head, his body towering over hers as he smirked down at her.

"What kind of deal?" Octavia asked warily.

Blaise didn't speak, apparently formulating the best response mentally as their gazes remained connected. The tense atmosphere surrounding them remained as such, but took a sudden shift that Octavia couldn't identify.

It wasn't until Blaise grabbed her face with both hands and crashed his lips against hers that she understood the change in atmosphere.

Blonde brows shot up to her hairline as Blaise kept her head in place, his lips smooshed against hers harshly, his body pressing up against hers. The ledges of the bookshelf pushed into her back painfully, his lips surely bruising hers, but she didn't try and escape. She just stood there, hands raised, eyebrows raised, in total and utter shock.

Hazel eyes were wide with surprise, even as Blaise's tongue parted her lips to grant himself access to her mouth. She remained frozen in place, staring at his closed eyelids, unable to process what the hell was happening. A warm tongue brushed over hers slowly, but not gently; his kiss was urgent, fierce, demanding and passionate. It was a statement; a message. But one that she couldn't decipher through the frozen state of her mind.

Still; Octavia suddenly had a very good idea as to what the deal entailed.


	17. Chapter 17

It was all so very foreign. The feel of Blaise's lips on hers, the tingling sensation that came with each forceful flick of his tongue over hers. His muscular body pressed against hers, his hands clutching her cheeks as he stole a kiss from her unmoving lips. Octavia stood frozen for however long, unable to fathom the unexpected occurrence that had befallen her in that moment. She had no idea how long he had been kissing her, or if he knew that she wasn't responding … or if he even cared.

As though a cauldron of icy cold water had been dumped over her, Octavia suddenly came to her senses, filled with too many emotions to decipher. Abruptly, her hands came down on his head, viciously whacking him repeatedly to detach his lips from hers. Blaise hissed at the pain, stumbling away from her as he rubbed his assaulted head.

"What the fuck, Tavs?" Blaise hissed, almost daring to scowl at the wide-eyed girl.

"What the fuck, _Tavs_?" Octavia repeated shrilly. "What the fuck you! You kissed me!"

"No shit, Captain Obvious," Blaise grumbled, using her own insult against her.

Octavia stared at him in complete shock, her hazel eyes as wide as saucers, her swollen lips parted, gaping at him like a fish out of water. Blaise was still frowning as he set to fixing his hair that she had whacked into a dishevelled state, and she honestly couldn't fathom how he could be so casual in that moment. He had just kissed his best friend of almost ten years, yet he was concerned about his hair and apparently not ashamed in the slightest.

"What the hell was that Blaise?" Octavia blurted, unable to make sense of his behaviour.

Once satisfied with his hair in place, now hanging over his forehead and perfectly finger-combed, Blaise met her baffled stare. He smirked deviously, stepping toward her again as she backed into the shelf, her eyes wide with lingering shock. This time, however, he didn't force a kiss upon her lips, but placed his hand on the shelf beside her head, smirking down at her.

"That was kiss," Blaise purred, completely unashamed. "A good one, at that."

"You're barmy," Octavia breathed, blinking up at him stupidly. "If Draco found out –"

"Precisely," Blaise interrupted. "I risk my life to kiss you and you attack me. Not exactly a grand gesture of gratitude."

"Gratitude?" Octavia repeated, her voice high-pitched. "Are you mental? I'm fucking beyond confused right now, and you want me to be _grateful?_ You better tell me what the hell you're up to, buddy!"

"Buddy?" Blaise grinned widely, mocking her with his glinting black eyes alone. "Oh, I am terrified now."

"You shut up and tell me what the hell that was all about," Octavia hissed, jabbing her finger against his chest.

"How does one 'shut up' and explain something at the same time?" Blaise laughed, unfazed by her attempt at being authoritative.

Octavia inhaled through her flaring nostrils, the anger beginning to brew dangerously inside of her. Blaise rolled his eyes at her, his grin fading into a wicked smirk.

"If you must know," Blaise drawled, humour lacing his tone, "I kissed you, because I wanted to."

"You wanted to?" Octavia repeated, her brows furrowed.

"You catch on pretty quickly," Blaise mocked, flashing her a wide grin.

"Why on earth would you want to kiss me?" Octavia frowned, dismissing his teasing words.

"Oh, there are reasons," Blaise purred, running his knuckles over her bare arm.

"I'd bloody well hope so," Octavia snapped. "Just tell me what the reasons are instead of pissing me off more!"

"A simple reason, but perhaps the most significant, is that I love you," Blaise shrugging nonchalantly, his lips twisted into a smirk still. "Then there are the other reasons, such as the inviting plumpness of your lips; the way you can't seem to shut up, so I have to do it for you; that delectably silly way your nose scrunches up when you concentrate; the way your relatively small breasts bounce when you stomp around like a child; and so on."

Octavia looked as though someone had slapped her on the face with a flobberworm; simply stunned. He _loved_ her? Blaise Zabini, her best friend turned traitor, a close friend of her captor/ex-boyfriend/complicated-significant-other, _loved_ her. The revelation just wasn't processing in her dazed mind.

"When you gape at me like that, how can you expect my tongue to stay out of your mouth?" Blaise teased, running his index finger over her parted lips.

"Stop," Octavia whined. "Stop joking around – this is serious, Blaise."

"It is," Blaise nodded, suddenly speaking in a severe tone. "And I seriously want to snog you senseless right here, right now."

"You're so annoying," Octavia groaned, rubbing her hands over her face in exasperation.

"Isn't that the fun of it?" Blaise grinned, grabbing her wrists and pinning her hands above her head. "We love to rile each other up; you honestly are at your most alluring when you're pissed off, and I am always alluring, so it's perfect. You should be happier about this, you know; I'm quite the catch."

"Stop it," Octavia snarled venomously. "I'm so not in the mood for your crap, Blaise. Tell me what the hell is going on."

"You're always in the mood for me," Blaise smirked. "But if you insist, we'll endure the dreary process of the backstory."

Octavia scowled up at him, but daren't retort lest it provoked another spiralling banter session. Strangely enough though, she had seemed to forget that her hands were pinned above her head by his.

"As you know," Blaise began after clearing his throat for exaggerated theatrical effect. "We have been friends for quite some time. My sentiments toward you were certainly of a platonic nature for the first few years of our friendship. I felt no jealousy or protectiveness when Draco tried to gain your affections, and only saw the humour in it. I tended to provoke him with our closeness, purely for entertainment purposes."

"Yeah, that's great, but I don't need a life story," Octavia interrupted. "Cut to the chase."

"Mighty impatient as always," Blaise grinned down at her. "As I was saying, – before I was so rudely interrupted, of course – I harboured no romantic feelings for you whatsoever. Or so I thought. When you surprised everyone – including myself – by returning Draco's affections in fourth year, I found myself to be a little on the bitter side. It took me a while to realise that I was jealous. For years I had to watch you touch him, and vice versa, and it drove me mad. If I was a sensitive man, which I'm definitely not of course, I might say that I was … hurt."

"That's why you stopped being my friend," Octavia said, realisation dawning on her as she gazed up at him.

"I never ended my friendship with you," Blaise countered. "I distanced myself, yes, but for my own benefit. The more time I spent with you, the harder it became. When I learned of Draco's intentions for the world in sixth year, I made a choice. I chose to push my feelings aside for you; if you were with Draco, you would be safe."

"What changed?" Octavia frowned. "You're telling me all this now, but you think I'm better off with Draco in this new world."

" _You_ changed." Blaise answered, his smirk faltering. "You'll always be miserable with him, and I suppose I realised that at the ritual. Draco put you in a position that day; one that contradicts his claims of loving you. If he truly loved you, he wouldn't have forced you to witness the ritual. Perhaps then I realised that you're better off away from him."

Octavia swallowed as she gazed up at him, a little unnerved by the intensity swarming in his heated dark eyes.

"This is crazy," Octavia whispered in disbelief. "This … It's just completely out of nowhere, Blaise …"

"I thought so at first too," Blaise smirked. "The night of the Yule Ball, I saw you run off crying. Draco followed you first, but I wasn't far behind him. When I came into the Slytherin common room and saw you kissing him … I've never felt that way before, Tavs. I hated you. It came out of nowhere for me too, and then I realised that it had always been there; I just didn't know it.

"Which brings us to the deal," Blaise continued, his smirk back in place. "I will help you escape, on one condition. I want you, Tavs. When all of this is over, and assuming I survive, I want you."

"I'm not a prize, Blaise." Octavia scowled. "I'm not something you get for doing the right thing."

"I am aware of that, thank you." Blaise responded coolly. "But if I am to risk my life, I want something in return. Whether you agree to this or not, you will be safe. I, on the other hand, may not be. You should understand that, Tavs. I'm not the only Slytherin here."

"I … I don't know if I can do that, Blaise." Octavia whispered. "I don't know if can feel that way about you … I don't even know what I'm feeling right now."

"I'm not concerned about that," Blaise grinned. "You can return my feelings one day, if you don't already. In my company you come to life. Since you've been brought here, it's when you're with me that you return to yourself. You are sassy and silly with me, but around everyone else you're merely a walking corpse, wallowing in your own misery. You might not realise it yet, but I am confident that you will eventually."

Octavia gawped up at him, unable to string two words together let alone a whole sentence in response. He was just so sure of himself; so confident. Then again, this was Blaise Zabini, so it was pretty standard behaviour. Arrogance may as well have been his middle name, if not cocky.

It was all too much for her. Even though she was certain that she was no longer in love with Draco, she couldn't deny that the Lord himself still held her heart in a nostalgic way. But sometimes the memory of someone was better than the reality, and the reality was undeniable; Draco wasn't the man she remembered, nor the man she first fell in love with.

Regardless of all the conflicting emotions, Octavia couldn't deny one simple, plain fact; Blaise was presenting her with the opportunity to escape. If she were to escape, she may be able to help win the war that her side was undoubtedly losing. But was escape the best option for her? Did it coincide with her brewing schemes? In truth, Octavia didn't know.

"I need to think," Octavia said after a while, her voice faltering with the havoc of her wild, clashing emotions. "It's too much right now … I need time."

"That is something we are short on," Blaise said. "Rumours have circulated that the last of the Irish Resistance have been spotted in Dublin only last night. Only a few members of the Order have gone uncaptured, but it won't be long until we catch up with them, Tavs."

"How will any of that change if you get me out of here?" Octavia countered. "If I find them again and join them, how will one extra person help win the war on that side?"

"Who said anything about you joining them?" Blaise quirked his brow. "Do you really think I'd risk my life for you to run back to a lost cause?"

"Then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Blaise began, not bothering to remove the patronising hint from his tone, "that I will help you escape, but to another country, away from the war."

"If you think the Order is a lost cause, why are you even bothering helping me then?" Octavia snapped. "Just so I can live off the grid somewhere, while everyone I love dies? How is that any better than staying here with Draco?"

"I believe in self-preservation, Tavs." Blaise drawled. "I believe in aligning myself with the winning side, but for you, I'm opposing my instincts and making a sacrifice. I'm putting myself at risk for you to be happy. Not safe, – for you'll be safe either way – but _happy_. That's the difference between Draco and I; he'd never relinquish his beliefs for you, but I would – I _am_."

"I need to think about this," Octavia frowned, her mind whirling a mile a minute. "I … I can't even understand this right now."

Blaise paused for a moment, seemingly considering her request, balancing it with his own schemes.

"I've been assigned as your chaperone tomorrow," Blaise explained, "I expect an answer by then. On one condition."

Of course. Blaise did nothing if it didn't serve his own agenda. Octavia couldn't even claim to be mildly surprised by the terms he was about to lay out. She knew him better than she even knew herself.

"Well?" Octavia prompted, awaiting the condition of their agreement.

"To come to a fair conclusion, I think it's best that you understand both options wholly," Blaise drawled, a smirk playing on his pink lips. "As you have entertained an intimate relationship with Draco, but not with myself, I feel that the scales unjustly weigh in his favour."

"What're you getting at?" Octavia asked with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"I believe that to even everything out, I am owed a kiss." Blaise shrugged nonchalantly. "For the sole purpose of fairness, of course."

"Of course," Octavia repeated, rolling her eyes at his utter predictability.

"I'll take that as your consent," Blaise smirked, not giving her a second to respond.

Before he had even allowed his words to register with her, his lips were on hers, his hands clutching her face firmly, preventing escape. Octavia scowled as his tongue parted her lips before delving into her warm mouth eagerly. She didn't feel the same spark of lust and affection from the kiss that Draco ignited within her, but felt as though she was kissing someone totally off limits. Like a brother, or something of the sort. It was strange, alien and, in truth, awkward.

"You're a terrible kisser, Tavs," Blaise murmured into her unmoving mouth.

Octavia's scowl deepened, her nose scrunched up in offense as he set to pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth. It was a skilled act, and from his slow, yet passionate ministrations, she could tell that he was quite talented in the art of kissing. But she didn't feel the lust it should brew inside of her. She just felt incredibly peculiar and uncomfortable.

Perhaps Blaise was correct. Perhaps she wasn't thinking fairly. It was highly probable that Octavia was clouded by her own nostalgic sentiments for Draco, and that may tip the balance in his favour. But with Blaise, she refused to even begin to see him as anything other than her once-best friend. Perhaps she was prematurely dismissing Blaise as a possible contender in her future. In the muggle world, one might say that she had rashly 'friend-zoned' him.

Slowly, Octavia raised her arms, her movements hesitant and unsure, gradually slipping them around his neck. Blaise took the gesture as further invitation, deepening their still one-sided kiss, his hard body pressing hers against the bookshelf. Experimentally, Octavia flicked her once-motionless tongue to life, almost setting to prodding it against his as though she had never learned how to kiss before.

Apparently Blaise suddenly seemed to care about her unease, his kiss softening, his tongue gliding over hers slowly. One hand remained on her face, cupping her cheek, while the other slid down to her waist, gripping onto her firmly.

With each coaxing flick of his tongue over hers, Octavia began to relax a little, finding a rhythm in their kiss, forgetting that her tongue was moving with Blaise's. She didn't forget who she was kissing, but with each passing moment, the awkwardness of the knowledge of his identity slipped away from her mind.

While the kiss was slow, it was hardly gentle; it was sensual and still lingered with passionate desperation on Blaise's side. She could almost taste the restrained fierceness in his warm mouth, along with the bitterness of the black coffee he had apparently indulged in before chaperoning her. Octavia didn't mind; she liked black coffee, so took a small sense of comfort in the familiar taste.

The hand on her waist began to wander, but so slowly that Octavia barely noticed. The unusual, yet nice kiss had her full attention. Long tanned fingers grazed over the bare skin of her thigh, slipping the material of her skirt to the side gradually, dancing over her smooth leg. Octavia gasped into his mouth as his hand slithered up the thigh-split and around to her bum, gripping her right butt cheek confidently.

His hand remained there, on her mound of flesh, fingertips digging into the cushiony skin, waiting for her reaction. Octavia frowned as their kiss stilled, lips still parted and connected, but tongues no longer moving. He was giving her the opportunity to end it, she realised. A part of her didn't want to. She should definitely be ashamed of herself, but now that their kiss had ended, she noticed a flicker of arousal at her core. A flicker that she felt compelled to nourish into an outright fire that Blaise would tend to.

But Octavia knew better. She was stronger than her arousal and lust. And the conflicting emotional turmoil inside of her still ran rampant through her body.

Placing her palms flat on his chest, Octavia nudged against him, pushing him away slightly to end their despicable behaviour in the shadows of the rich library. Blaise allowed the rejection, seemingly satisfied with the kiss they had already enjoyed. His hand didn't fail to give her butt cheek one last squeeze of appreciation before released her entirely and stepped back.

As hazel and black met, Octavia realised; she was lusting after her best-friend.

* * *

There was so much she wanted to write. So much that she wanted to say; to admit to her cousin, to talk about. But she couldn't. Hermione wouldn't understand; she wasn't the one to discuss intimacy with. Pansy truly was the friend that Octavia needed right now, but, alas, she wasn't a friend. Blaise was her only other friend, but that relationship had blurred now, considering they just snogged in the library little more than an hour ago. Oh, and let's not forget his declarations of love for her. Yes, that definitely changed their relationship. No longer friends, but not quite lovers.

Octavia wished she could write these thoughts in the diary. For a moment, she almost wished that it was an actual diary. But that was silly, for the enchanted journal was far more important than a silly tool that Octavia could use to express her inner conflicts. Even so, every time the tip of the ink-stained quill touched the parchment page, Octavia had to stop, for she was about to spill the secrets of what had just transpired each time.

It wasn't enough that she had taken care of her lingering arousal when she had returned to the tower. Octavia thought that if the desire was vanquished inside of her, no further alien feelings toward Blaise would remain. Apparently, she was wrong.

In truth, Octavia had no idea what she was feeling for the Italian. She knew enough to identify the spark of lust, but was unable to decipher the other emotions inside of her. It hardly helped matters than when she had climaxed by DIY methods, images of Blaise flashed in her mind. And now all she was left with was total and utter confusion.

Octavia couldn't think through the fog of bafflement in her mind. She couldn't formulate the information in her head and write it in the diary for Hermione. She knew that she should tell her cousin about the offer of escape, for Hermione would have a way to bend the assistance in the Order's favour. But Octavia just didn't know what to write. So she wrote nothing.

Slamming the diary shut, Octavia heaved a heavy sigh as she stuffed the leather book beneath her mattress. The communications would have to wait until the next day, when she hoped that her mind would better function.

And hopefully come morning, Octavia would know which route to venture down. For all available paths were equally as hazardous as the other.


	18. Chapter 18

Laying sprawled out on the four-poster bed, Octavia allowed the first giggle in however long to escape her lips. Hope entertained her by yapping incessantly when she scratched her nails against the duvet. The ball of fluff currently bounced around the bed, butt in the air, tail wagging furiously, snapping playfully at Octavia dancing fingers.

It didn't escape Octavia's notice that the Pomeranian was courtesy of Blaise. But once the thought entered her mind, the giggle came to an abrupt halt, and the ever-present expression of weariness slipped over her features.

"It's ok to laugh," Draco's voice reassured, the Lord himself seated on the armchair by the bed.

Octavia pursed her lips at the sound of his voice, finding that it possessed a coldness that was unknown to her. Since he had entered her bedroom one hour ago, Octavia had felt a little unnerved by his presence. She had noticed an unfamiliar hardness behind the warmth of his silver eyes, and an indifference to his stony expression. Draco still behaved in the same manner with her as before, but she couldn't help but feel unnerved by his company. Perhaps it was all in her head though. She could very well be manifesting her own shame of kissing Blaise into her encounter with Draco at that moment. Or maybe, just maybe, Draco was different after the ritual. Truly; Octavia didn't know.

"Are you planning on speaking to me at all?" Draco sighed, pushing himself from the armchair.

Octavia remained still and silent as he approached the bed, the Lord seating himself on the edge, right next to her legs. Continuing to ignore his presence, Octavia set to ticking Hope's belly, a smile tugging at her lips as the pup growled playfully in response.

Draco's hand rested on the back of her thigh, pulling her attention back to him and away from the dog. Octavia sighed in slight annoyance, but was aware that she couldn't ignore him forever.

"Octavia," Draco whispered softly, coaxing her to interact with him. Almost pleading with her. "Talk to me."

"There's nothing to say," Octavia mumbled, pushing herself around to face him, sitting cross-legged.

"Obviously there is," Draco countered, brushing his knuckles over her cheek. "You're upset with me about the ritual, aren't you?"

"Is that surprising?" Octavia scoffed, attempting to ignore the familiar feel of his tender gesture on her cheek.

"It isn't." Draco replied, almost regretfully.

"Why did you make me watch that, Draco?" Octavia frowned, needing an explanation. Blaise had suggested that the command for her to witness such atrocities was a telling gesture of Draco's lack of true love for her, but rather his obsession. Something that Octavia was beginning to mull over, for what other reason would there be?

"I didn't want you there," Draco admitted. "I didn't want for you to witness that side of me, Octavia."

"Then why did you make me go?"

"Unity." Draco sighed. "It was your introduction, I suppose. It needed to be known that you are mine, and that you are a queen. To do that, you had to be there at the ritual; it's an important, historical event. My followers needed the clarification. I'm sorry that you had to see that, O."

"You just … killed that poor old man," Octavia whispered, shaking her head sadly. "Just for power. How do you sleep at night?"

"That 'poor old man' was once a dark wizard, Octavia." Draco explained. "He and Dumbledore had once constructed plans to overthrow the magical world for the greater good. Their plans were based on blood purity, much like Voldemort's. He may have been old, and looked rather sickly, but he was not a vulnerable man, nor someone you should pity."

Octavia parted her lips to respond, but couldn't formulate words, so quickly closed them again. Her hazel eyes locked onto his softened silver orbs, Draco's hand moving from her cheek to her loose curls instead. A pang of nostalgia hit her heart at the sweetness in his gaze, confusing her already complex emotions even further. For a moment, Octavia almost felt that she was in the company of the old Draco. Almost.

"I don't enjoy taking the lives of others," Draco continued, confessing to her. "I don't dislike it, and I don't enjoy it. It's not something that affects me, but I do it because I have to."

"The Draco I fell in love with wouldn't do that." Octavia countered. "He wouldn't kill anyone."

"I wish that were true," Draco said. "I wish I could honestly agree with that claim, but I can't. The first time I killed, I was fifteen. We were together then, Octavia. You fell in love with me, and I am still that same man."

"You killed someone?" Octavia gaped, shock shining in her wide hazel eyes. "Back then, you … _why_?"

"It was a part of my training," Draco explained. "A defected Death Eater who refused to accept the prophecy. Lucius gathered him and another for Harry and I to … practice on, for lack of a better word."

"Practice?" Octavia repeated with absolute outrage.

"Practice," Draco nodded. "This isn't new, Octavia. All of this has been occurring from before I even met you. The first time I ever performed the cruciatus curse was when I was eight years old on my favourite house-elf, with my Lucius' wand. When I was ten, Lucius forced me to kill my dog because I had grown too attached to it. I believe his exact words were 'Lords should be invincible, but love is a clink in their armour that cannot be afforded'."

Swallowing thickly, Octavia gazed up at Draco as though seeing him for the first time. In all the years she had known him, this information had never been revealed to her. Memories of his wandless magical abilities began to flash in her mind, recalling times when Draco issued nonverbal spells without a wand in their first year. It had been a massive tell-tale sign of his abilities, but she had never paid the matter any further thought. It made sense to her now.

"Lucius has been training Harry and I for a very long time, O." Draco explained, his fingers tangled in her short, tight curls. "We were forced to issue countless strings of the cruciatus curse, as well as endure them ourselves at his hand. Bellatrix's crucios were the worst. Each time that Harry and I left Hogwarts, that is what we returned to; torture and training."

"Why would they crucio you?" Octavia whispered, her face scrunched up in horrified anguish. "Why would they hurt you like that?"

"Each lesson had its purpose," Draco shrugged lightly, seemingly unfazed at the torture he had endured his entire life. "We learned to resist the pain of the curse, our minds were invaded constantly with Legilimency for us to learn Occlumency, we ingested Veritaserum frequently to learn how to fight the effects. At times, we were locked in separate cells with boggarts to face our fears, because Lords shouldn't have fears."

Octavia felt horrified. Not only did she have to endure the image of Draco suffering these horrific methods of 'training', she had to picture it with a young Draco, no older than a child. She simply felt sick to her stomach.

"Harry's boggart was Lucius," Draco informed, a small dry smile playing on his lips. "Now, it morphs into nothing. He has no boggart, for he has no fears. I, on the other hand, have only one fear. It used to be Lucius, and then I met you. Since that day on the train, my boggart has only ever transformed into you."

"Me?" Octavia whispered, her eyes widening, lips parting. What could be so bad about her? She wasn't an awful person. She wasn't nearly as despicable as Lucius Malfoy. So how on earth could _she_ be a boggart?

"You," Draco smiled softly, tucking a loose tendril behind her ear. "At first, when I was younger, the boggart would mock me, tease me cruelly, tell me that I'm not worthy of your friendship. It was always rejection."

"And now?"

"Now," Draco said, the smile falling from his lips. "Now, the boggart cries. It tells me how much I have broken you by being who I am. It tells me that you will never love me for what I truly am – a monster."

Her brows knitted together, Octavia's expression morphing into one of sadness. For it was true, wasn't it? Had his fears come to pass? He had broken her, she was sure of it. She had loved him with all of her being back then, but now? Now she felt that love dim, perhaps die. And she truly did believe that Draco was a monster.

"Do you know what that's like, O?" Draco asked, anguish lacing his rhetorical question. "For that boggart to morph into you, hating me, is honestly the worst experience I have ever suffered. I would go back to my endless training sessions with Bellatrix if it meant never having to meet a boggart again in my life. I love you, every fucking bit of you. I love all the good, and all the bad. I don't just accept the bad, Octavia – I actively love every piece of you. There is nothing I would change about you."

"It's just a boggart," Octavia whispered, feeling the confusing urge to comfort him. "It's not real."

"Isn't it?" Draco countered. "I can feel you slipping away from me, O. I can see the way you look at me now. It breaks my heart every time. I hate coming up here, I hate coming to see you, Octavia. I put it off constantly, hoping for a distraction so I don't have to visit you. Because when I get here, you look at me like you don't know me. You look at me like the boggart does."

"I don't know you," Octavia agreed, somewhat regretfully. "I … I know the boy at Hogwarts who gave me his sweets all the time, and was kind and loving. You just always wanted to make me happy. I don't know you, though. Not this person in front of me."

"You do," Draco retorted, a little impatiently. "You do know me. I am that person, O. I'm different with others, but with you, I will always be that Draco. You don't bring out the best in me, you create a new part of me. I'm that person with you, and only with you."

Draco clutched a fistful of her curls gently, bringing his face closer to hers. Octavia turned her head to the side slowly, removing her lips from the path of Draco's, but it didn't deter him. If anything, he only paused for a moment before planting a tender kiss on the corner of her plump lips. A tingling sensation tickled at the spot he had kissed, her eyes unable to resist fluttering shut as he repeated the action.

"If sweets are what you want," Draco breathed against the corner of her lips between kisses. "Then sweets are what you will get, Octavia. I have said this so many times, but it never stops being true; I would do anything for you. I can't rescind my throne, but I can give you one right next to mine. It's the only thing I can't change for you. But I will do everything in my power to make you happy again. All I ask is for your forgiveness. Please, Octavia, just give me a chance."

Surprising herself, Octavia turned to face him, a single tear sliding down her cheek as their lips grazed together. Octavia had no idea why she was meeting his lips, or if she had even meant to. But she had done it, and Draco had taken it as the invitation it may or may not have been.

Sparks igniting within her as his lips pressed against hers tenderly, familiarity and stirred desire rousing inside of her. Perhaps this was due to Blaise's unfamiliar lips on hers the day before, but suddenly, Octavia craved Draco's kiss. She craved the feelings that only he could awaken inside of her. Octavia needed Draco to kiss away the betrayal that her lips were forever stained with.

That was it. The pang in her chest. The need to kiss Draco. It was guilt.

Tears fell freely down her cheeks at the realisation. No matter of official and technical relationship statuses between Octavia and Draco, she had betrayed him. She had cheated on him. Her heart knew it; her soul knew it. And she needed it to be washed away.

Before she could even begin to kiss away the guilt inside of her, Draco's lips parted from hers. Octavia needed more, however. Breathing unevenly, as though she had just run a marathon, Octavia leaned closer to him, bringing their faces together. Their noses touched ever so slightly, but Draco placed his hands on her shoulders, preventing her from getting closer.

Frowning in confusion, Octavia gazed up at him as she plopped back down onto her bottom, waiting for an explanation. He had kissed her, he had initiated it, but now he didn't seem to want to kiss her at all.

"We shouldn't." Draco whispered, holding her shoulders firmly, keeping her at bay. "Not like this, O."

"You … You don't want to?" Octavia asked, anguish and rejection shining in her watery eyes.

"I do," Draco nodded. "But not like this. You don't want this yet; you're not ready for this."

"Fuck you," Octavia breathed, unable to fathom the rejection, unable to understand the shredding sensation at her heart. "You don't get to tell me what I'm ready for or what I'm feeling. Get out."

"No." Draco shook his head. "I'm staying here with you. I don't want you to be upset, but I can't put you in yet another position that you'll resent me for later."

"Get out!" Octavia bellowed in his face, every emotion inside of her suddenly morphing into boiling, bubbling rage. "Get the fuck out!"

Draco just stared at her patiently from beneath his lashes, remaining perfectly still. It only served to increase her fury, and unfortunately for him, he was her closest target.

Octavia's hand shot out, slapping across his face harshly, a loud crack ripping through the room from the assault. Draco's face turned to the side from the force of the slap, but he made to move to follow her command and depart the circular bedroom. Abruptly, her hand whacked him again, and again, and again, Draco not preventing the attack in the slightest – just sitting there, taking it, accepting it.

"Get out, get out, get out!" Octavia screeched, slapping his crimson cheek with uncaged fury. The wrath inside of her was so brutal that she couldn't even register the pang of pity at her heart. She just kept yelling and hitting and crying. It wasn't enough.

A shriek ripped through her throat as she lunged herself at Draco, Octavia blinded by the released emotions of utter betrayal and heartache brewing from over three years of misery. As Draco was sitting on the edge of the bed, however, Octavia tackled him to the harsh ground unintentionally. Draco wrapped his arms around her, keeping her on top of him as he took the full force of the fall, landing on his back. It took a mere second before Octavia straddled him and proceeded to slap his face, neck, chest, head – anywhere she could reach, really.

Draco just lay there; his head turned to the side, his eyes shut tight, hands resting on her hips. His complete lack of response only infuriated her further.

"I hate you!" Octavia shrieked, curling her fingers into a fist before punching him square on the jaw. "I hate you, I hate you, you fucking asshole!"

Draco didn't even grunt or hiss at the impact, not showing any signs of the inflicted pain whatsoever. But his bleeding lip told another story.

"I hate you!" Octavia screeched, her voice breaking from the sobs that threatened to take over. "You ruined everything! You ruined my life!"

Another punch to his perfectly chiselled jaw, and again, he didn't even flinch.

"You're fucking pathetic!" Octavia blubbered, her voice faltering, but not her assaults. "You ruined everything, Draco! We were supposed to be happy! We were supposed to get married and be together and have kids! You ruined it! YOU RUINED _ME!_ I DON'T LOVE YOU, YOU FUCKING MONSTER!"

Before her raised fist could collide with his face again, Draco snapped.

A shriek of brutal frustration and anger ripped through Octavia as his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist, his other hand snatching her throat. Octavia flailed wildly, screeching to the heavens like a lunatic as Draco spun them around, flipping her onto her back without a speck of gentleness. The air shoved out of her lungs from the force of the impact, Octavia grunting at the collision with the stony floor.

Draco glowered down at her, his jaw clenched tightly, silver eyes molten with fury. His hand gripped onto her throat tightly, pinning her down, but not choking her. Still, she had one hand free, and she sure used it.

Wailing like a madwoman, Octavia slapped him repeatedly on the face, her legs kicking out wildly as he straddled her. His upper lip curled, the rage on his face apparent, but she didn't care. She was even more enraged than he.

"YOU'RE NOTHING TO ME!" Octavia wailed, slapping at his enraged face manically.

"SHUT UP!" Draco roared in her face, his body towering over hers. "SHUT UP!"

"I HATE YOU!" Octavia shrieked, grabbing his face, raking her nails down his porcelain cheek. "I DON'T LOVE YOU, I DON'T LOVE YOU! I'LL NEVER LOVE YOU!"

Draco's eyes radiating absolute murderous fury as he glared down at her, his jaw clenched, nostrils flared, chest heaving with the sheer harshness of his breathing. He didn't even flinch at the tearing of his cheek as she scratched him viciously, her other hand pinned down by his.

"YOU FUCKING LIAR!" Draco bellowed, bringing his face closer to hers, their noses touching as she continued her assault, tearing the skin of his cheek. "YOU'RE A FUCKING LIAR, OCTAVIA! YOU LOVE ME! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE SAY OTHERWISE!"

"I DON'T LOVE YOU!" Octavia screamed at the top of her lungs, her clenching heart contradicting the words she spoke to hurt him. "I HOPE YOU DIE!"

They were both so consumed by their rage that neither noticed the tears falling from Draco's eyes down to her face. His hand left her throat, Draco still straddling her, pinning her down as he tried to snatch her other hand. Her knee jerked, attempting to get him in the groin, but he shifted his position just in time.

On the stone ground, they wrestled, snatching at each other's limbs, evading the other, both breathing harshly with the adrenaline of their brutal anger. Draco pressed his knee into her gut to keep her down, grabbing her wrists mid-air with lightening reflexes. Once he had both of her hands pinned, Octavia craned her neck, biting down on his forearm brutally.

Draco winced as her teeth broke through his skin, blood seeping out of the wound. Upon instinct, Draco yanked his arms away from her, unintentionally releasing her recently restrained wrists.

"Fuck!" Draco shouted, resuming his wrestling with her, avoiding her flailing limbs, the blonde beauty hell-bent on attacking him. "Fucking stop! What the fuck is the matter with you?!"

"YOU ARE!" Octavia screeched, punching him straight in the throat.

Draco coughed, clutching his throat as she tried to shimmy out from beneath him without much success. Recovering quickly, Draco hurriedly leaned down on top of her, snatching at her wrists, ignoring her flailing and squirming body as she tried to inflict further harm upon him.

"Are you really that angry that I won't fucking _kiss_ you?!" Draco spat, glowering down at her as she continued to struggle. "You're acting like a crazy bitch!"

"Coming from you?!" Octavia shrilled, on the verge of sobbing her heart out. "You're a fucking monster, psychopath, worm! I hope you burn in hell!"

"SHUT UP!" Draco bellowed, his body radiating the rage within. "DON'T FUCKING SAY THAT TO ME! YOU WANT A FUCKING KISS? I'LL GIVE YOU A KISS, YOU HEARTLESS BITCH!"

Octavia screamed as his lips crashed down upon hers, the sheer harshness assaulting the nerves in her front teeth. She snapped her mouth open and bit down brutally on his lips, piercing them both with the force in a matter of seconds. Draco grunted at the pain, pulling away from her the second she released him, his blood staining both of their lips.

Draco's brows shot up in surprise as her hand whacked across his face for the countless time before she snatched a fistful of his hair, yanking his face down to hers again. Octavia squashed her lips against his bloodied ones, pulling strands of his hair almost out of his scalp, kissing him brutally as he remained still.

But he only remained motionless for a moment. For in mere seconds, Draco and Octavia did something that there was no coming back from.

Not ever.


	19. Chapter 19

Draco remained still as she forced her lips on his, kissing him harshly, bruising his skin, hand buried in his hair. But the shock of her change in assault quickly dispersed, and left him with the same uncaged raw hunger that possessed his love. Perhaps if he hadn't essentially been celibate for over three years straight Draco may have been able to rationalise the situation. But at the end of it all, he was still a man, and the woman kissing him was the only woman in the world he had ever loved.

Suddenly, Draco slammed her down on the ground, one hand clasped around her throat, the other shoving between their bodies and hiking up her dress. He felt the pain of her teeth biting at his bottom lip; he felt the sting of her hand pulling at his hair, but he didn't acknowledge it. Draco allowed her to continue assaulting him; venting her anger and pain onto him.

Supporting himself on his forearm, Draco grabbed her knickers and yanked them harshly, Octavia wincing at the pain from the pull of the elastic waistband against her skin. Their legs kicked and fumbled, Draco positioning his own between hers, her knickers torn, lying beside them on the floor.

"This is what you want?" Draco breathed huskily against her lips, no kindness in his tone whatsoever. "This is what you want from me, Octavia?"

A mixture of a groan and grunt escaped her lips serving as a response. Draco wasn't certain what her response meant until her hands dove between their bodies and fumbled with his belt hurriedly. Whacking her hands out of the way, Draco pressed his lips against hers, kissing her brutally as he swiftly unfastened his belt, quickly undoing the button and zip quickly after.

Kicking his legs slightly, Draco shimmied down his slacks to the tip of his thighs, Octavia's bare feet pushing at the material, assisting his efforts. Her hands had returned to assaulting him, however; one buried in his blonde hair, clutching tightly, pulling harshly; the other slipping up his back beneath his shirt, fingernails scraping at his already scarred porcelain skin.

There was absolutely no need for foreplay. They were both entirely prepared – physically speaking – for what was about to transpire.

Draco grabbed the base of his thick shaft, wasting not a second before he positioned the weeping head against her soaked folds. He gave her no time to process their despicable actions before he plunged inside of her to the hilt. A guttural cry escaped Octavia's swollen lips, right into Draco's mouth as they continued to kiss harshly, her back arching at the sudden intrusion. Her trapped breasts pushed up against his muscular chest, their kiss hardening, not nice or sweet by any means, but punishing and violent; hateful.

With one forearm on the ground, supporting his weight, Draco snatched a fistful of her curls, pulling her head back to expose her smooth neck to him. Draco's bloodied lips lunged at the milky white skin, kissing and nipping and sucking without any delicateness, his cock filling her to the brim, stretching her tight walls completely. The sheer tightness of her slick walls engulfing his shaft almost had him cumming right at that moment. He had almost forgotten what I felt like to be inside of her, but the reality – even if tainted by anger and hate – was so much sweeter than the memory or fantasy.

Three years. Three whole years without the other, three years without the other's touch or bodies – a crushing desire inside of him that only her body could appease. For that very reason Draco had to remain still inside of her, unable to ward off the prematurely bubbling climax in his veins. Suddenly, Draco found himself not caring about her pleasure though. His entire body – veins, muscles and all – were still burning with the rage she had stirred within him. He hated her in that moment. He despised her for spitting those horrid, ugly words at him, purely with the intent of hurting him. And that is exactly what she had done; she had hurt him.

Growling in newfound anger, Draco's upper lip curled against the smooth skin of her neck, feeling her rapid pulse, her cunt clenching around his shaft; begging for him to continue. So he did.

Biting down harshly on her neck, Draco slipped out of her to the tip, waiting only a moment before he slammed deep inside of her mercilessly. The hand in her hair kept her in place as he pummelled into her furiously, only taking a total of eight thrusts before pleasure assaulted his body completely.

Draco's body tensed as he slammed into her one final time, his body curved over hers, cock jerking against her slick constricting walls, emptying his load deep inside of her. A sharp inhale sounded out before Draco relaxed, groaning at the immense pleasure engulfing him. His face buried into the nook of her neck, harsh breaths brushing over her delectable skin as the sweetest tingling sensations trickled down his body.

While Draco was already spent, Octavia was far from it. Gripping onto his muscular shoulders, Octavia raised her right leg, using it as leverage to roll them over swiftly, Draco grunting as she wrestled him onto his back. Hooded silver eyes gazed up at her in a cloud of pleasure and lust as she straddled him, hazel eyes burning with anger, hatred and love.

Her face contorted in a mixture of anguish and desire, her fingers digging into his shoulders through the thin, expensive fabric of his shirt. Leaning over him, holding onto him for support, Octavia raised her body, leaving the tip of his still hard cock inside of her before slamming down without care.

Draco groaned at the painful pleasure shooting through him, his hands resting on her hips, holding onto her tightly as she repeated the movement. Dishevelled blonde curls fanned around her face from her sheer exertion and overall excitement, bobbing and swaying with every bounce. Experimental sways and grinds of the hips cause Draco's vision to focus only on the seductive vixen riding him, finding himself intoxicated by her even more with her palpable lack of experience.

Octavia and Draco had only ever had sex with one another, and not another soul. Additionally, the exquisite act had only occurred the night before the Hogwarts Battle, so it was understandable that Octavia wasn't sure how to manoeuvre herself on top of him. But her hatred and anger seemed to fuel her lust, thwarting her apprehensions entirely.

Less than pretty grunts escaped Octavia's bloodied lips with each landing on his groin, the angle causing the tip of his cock to stab at the sweet spot inside of her. Draco heard nothing ugly in the grunts, however, seemingly in a trance as he watched her; her brows furrowed in concentration, her crimson lips parted, wild curls swaying, dress-shielded breasts bouncing. He was never more certain of her goddess status in that moment … Well, with the anger still surging inside of him, he mentally compared her to more of a Lilith-type figure. Beautiful, seductive and cruel to her core.

Still; Draco pushed himself from the cold stone floor, wrapping his muscular arms around her body as she bounced with rhythm, taking every inch of his cock inside of her. His warm seed coated her already slick walls, her cunt clenching and tightening around him impossibly, alerting him that she was close.

Bloodied lips found the dip in her neck as she slammed herself down on his shaft vigorously, the slick slapping sounds of her ministrations resounding through the room. Draco nipped harshly at her sweet skin, sending jolts of pain through her body as he tightened his hold on her, guiding her up and down in a perfectly brutal motion. Holding onto her, Draco slammed upwards, meeting each one of her bounces, surging his cock deeper inside of her without mercy.

"Come," Draco whispered huskily against her neck, his tone commanding.

With one final thrust upwards, Draco pulled her down on his cock, biting the smooth and bruised skin of her neck as she gasped. The gasp lingered in the thick air between them for a moment, vibrating around them, before a terrifically melodic moan escaped her lips, her walls quivering, fluttering and clenching around her twitching cock. The elixir of her climax washed down on his shaft, joining his second emission as they both cried out in ecstasy.

Cradling her in his lap, Draco held onto her tightly, his face nuzzled against her neck, his harsh breaths ripping through the air with hers. The thickness in the air shifted to one of awareness, Draco feeling her slender figure tensing in his arms.

"I hate you," Octavia panted, resting her forehead on his shoulder.

"You're a fucking liar," Draco breathed, holding her against him. "This felt right, O, and you know it. I felt right because it is. You started this – you wanted this. Don't blame me for what you did, Octavia."

She didn't reply. She just remained still in his arms, her body melting against his, finding the same familiar tranquillity that he found with her. but all the tranquillity in the world couldn't appease the absolute anguish and fury inside of him. For even after what had transpired between them mere moments ago, Octavia still had to go and ruin it – she had to open her mouth and issue unfair claims at him. Draco wasn't having any of it.

Octavia scowled as Draco grabbed her hips and shoved her off him – not harshly, but not exactly gently either. Legs spread, core exposed, Octavia landed on her bottom beside him, glowering at him as he fastened up his pants.

"What the fuck was that?" Octavia spat, tossed to the side literally.

Draco didn't respond as he pulled up his pants before he buckled up the belt, his cock tucked securely away, his silver gaze on his actions, not meeting her incredulous stare.

"I asked you a question!" Octavia shouted as he continued to ignore her, climbing to his feet, leaving her on the floor. "Oi! I'm talking to you fuckhead!"

Draco snapped his gaze to hers, molten silver meeting burning hazel. He took a step toward her, his body towering over hers as she sat, sprawled out, on the floor, not bothering to cover herself.

" _What the fuck was that_?" Draco snarled down at her, rage glowing in his silver eyes. "Are you serious? If I did that to you – If I hit you, punched you, then fucked you like you were nothing, what would that make me? You honestly expect me to be your punching bag, O? You think I'll let you treat me like shit? Use me whenever you're horny, hit me whenever you're angry? And that I'd be happy with that? You have treated me like shit since the day we met, and I'm fucking sick of it. You _will_ respect me, Octavia."

"Oh!" Octavia screeched with dripping sarcasm as she scrambled to her feet. "Should I bow down to you, _My Lord?_ Should I fall at your feet like your little minions? Is that what you want?"

"I want respect!" Draco shouted in her face, both entirely unaware of the liquid dripping down O's inner thighs. "I'm done with this self-pitying bullshit! This is the world now, and you need to come to terms with that Octavia! It's over! Deal with it and move on! And if you raise your fucking hand to me again –"

"What?" Octavia hissed, stepping closer to him, her defiant eyes staring up at his. "What will you do, Draco?"

Draco's defined jaw ticked as he glowered down at her dangerously, his upper lip threatening to curl, but he remained silent.

"That's what I thought," Octavia smirked nastily, regarding him as though he were nothing but dirt on her most precious stilettoes.

Octavia made to shove passed him, but shrieked as her throat was snatched, her body propelled back onto the mattress. Holding her neck firmly, Draco pinned her down on the bed, his furious gaze penetrating her wide hazel eyes fiercely.

"ENOUGH!" Draco bellowed, his nose almost touching hers as his body curved over hers. "I'm not your bitch, Octavia! I allow you to get away with things that others would be skinned alive for! I've always allowed you to do whatever the fuck you want, but I will not tolerate this behaviour, is that understood? You will not hit me, you will not _use_ me as your own personal fucktoy, and you _will_ respect me! I'm not asking for a lot, O. I'm not demanding that you bow at my feet, because you're not beneath me – you are my equal. But I demand respect!"

Octavia's face was entirely blank as she gazed up at him stupidly, her lips parting in surprise at the unfamiliar way he was speaking to her. But what was most shocking to her, was that he was correct. If he had treated her the way she had just treated him, he would be a woman-beater and a … rapist? Was it rape? No … He wanted it. He … He initiated it, didn't he? Suddenly she couldn't remember. Suddenly, her memory blurred – or was that her vision?

Yes. That was her vision.

Tears welled in her wide hazel eyes, her face scrunching up in total anguish as Draco held her down, his brows furrowing in growing concern. A horrid whine escaped her lips as the sobbing began, hysterical breaths and whimpers interrupting the sobs that only Octavia could perform. But Draco knew, it wasn't a performance. It was authentic.

In truth, Draco was torn. The anger and injustice within him still soared wildly through his veins, but the sight of Octavia crying in a such a way shredded his heart to smithereens. Was it acceptable to simply comfort and forgive her if she cried? Probably not. But he couldn't witness the sight. He had to soothe her pain. It was an urge that never left him since the moment he first laid eyes on her snooty face all those years ago. He never wanted her to be angry, upset, sad – he only wanted her to be happy. Octavia was his only weakness; his Achilles Heel.

Releasing a nearly inaudible sigh, Draco bowed his head as she sobbed wretchedly beneath him, feeling the gut-churning guilt at being the cause of her distress. Draco pushed himself from the bed, scooping her up in his arms before he laid them both down, cradling her tenderly against him.

"Shh," Draco hushed, her damp face soaking his shirt as her body shook with the force of her anguished tears. "I'm sorry, O. I'm so sorry for everything I've put you through. It's difficult for me to understand what you're feeling, and I can't apologise enough for not trying harder. I want to protect you from everything, but I forget that I'm the one hurting you."

Octavia whined and groaned against his chest as he held her shaky body against his, his arms wrapped firmly around her, leg draped over hers.

"I love you so much, O." Draco whispered, burying his face in her mop of wild tresses. "I love you."

"I love you too," Octavia whimpered, the sheer agony of the words lacing her hoarse voice.

* * *

*.*.*.*.*

* * *

Octavia had pretended to fall asleep in Draco's arms to evade his presence, and after he had taken his leave she had dragged herself to the bathroom. It had taken Octavia two hours of simmering in a seemingly eternally hot bubbly bathtub to calm completely. Even so, her nerves were still frayed, and her mind was a chaotic swarm of emotion and mush. So entirely consumed with self-loathing at what she had done with Draco, Octavia couldn't even begin to decipher what she was feeling. All she could focus on was the gloomy dread of her impending meeting with Blaise.

That evening, Blaise was assigned as her chaperone should she decide to leave the tower for a while. If she decided to stay in the tower, Blaise would be her dinner companion. Either way, he would arrive and expect an answer. An answer that she couldn't give him yet. Especially not with everything that had transpired that day.

In truth, amidst the putrid emotions she endured, Octavia felt somewhat relieved. Perhaps satisfied. Not necessarily by the hate sex she had Draco had participated in with one another, but by her release of emotions. For the first time since the war had begun, Octavia felt as though she had expressed the agony Draco had caused her. She felt as though she had been cleansed in a sense, and that she and Draco had entered a new phase of their complex relationship. But what that phase was, Octavia had yet to find out.

No anger coursed through her veins anymore, only echoes of despair and shadows of heartache. In a way, she felt numb. Not completely, but enough for her to realise that she had begun to move on from the pain. It was a hopeful, promising realisation, but one that also struck fear through her. For she had no idea where this would take her.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall informed her of her impending meeting with Blaise. He was due to arrive in an estimated twenty minutes, unfortunately cutting her tranquil bath-time short.

The swishing and swashing of the tepid bathwater sounded out as Octavia pushed herself to her feet, her curls so wet they were almost straight from the sheer weight of the water. She snatched a towel from the nearby rack before climbing out, water already drenching the floor from her careless movements.

Octavia took her time as she towel dried her wild curls before wiping off the beads of bathwater from her dewy body. Despite it only being six in the evening, Octavia found herself to be considerably exhausted. But that was quite common following an emotionally trying fit of sibs and angry sex, right?

Octavia cursed under her breath as a knock sounded at the front door of her bedroom, just as she was shimmying into her flowy green dress.

"Come in!" Octavia sang loudly, her voice carrying through the shut door of the ensuite. "I'll be out in a minute!"

The creak of the front door indicated that Blaise had entered, allowing Octavia more time to quickly tie her damp curls into a braid before slipping on a flat pair of sandals.

Once finished with the alterations to her appearance, Octavia rubbed her hands over her clean and blemish-free face, exhaling deeply in palpable dread. Anxiety butterflies of the awful sort swarmed in the pit of churning and twisting stomach suddenly. The trepidation of her inevitable encounter with Blaise was evident in the fear that sparkled in her bright hazel eyes, noticeable in the way she continuously chewed on her bottom lip and fidgeted her feet together.

Octavia had no idea what she would say to Blaise once she stepped out of the ensuite. She didn't have the answers he sought. But he had been so adamant that they were short on time, so it didn't allow her much wiggle room to delay the inevitable. Morally speaking, Octavia knew that it was the right thing to do by choosing Blaise and accepting his offer. Not only would it allow her an escape from Draco and the totalitarian world he had constructed, but it assisted the Order. If she were to flee with Blaise, Octavia could find a way to return to Hermione and re-join the fight.

If she were to stay, however, she could continue feeding inside knowledge to Hermione. Every time Octavia wandered the manor with a chaperone, she took mental notes on the layout of the grand building, especially the restricted areas. After only five trips outside of the tower, Octavia now knew where the dungeons were – that was undoubtedly the most important piece of information she had relayed to Hermione through the enchanted diary. With the knowledge of the location of the dungeons, there was a chance that the remaining Order members could free the trapped ones.

However, it was dangerous for Octavia to stay at the manor with Draco. It was dangerous because she was already cracking – the mere fact that she was attempting to make excuses to stay was proof enough of this.

Still nowhere near a final decision, Octavia gave her healthy appearance a once-over in the mirror before nodding to herself once. It was just like ripping off a plaster. She would know the answer in her heart when Blaise asked her again, right? One could only hope.

Swallowing back her fears, Octavia raised her nose in the air and tottered out of the bathroom, her flat sandals clacking and clopping as she moved. Swinging open the door, Octavia made to enter the cold tower bedroom, but stopped in the threshold, eyes wide with shock, lips parted in surprise, anger brewing up inside of her.

Blaise wasn't in the bedroom.

Pansy Fucking Parkinson was in the bedroom.


	20. Chapter 20

When Draco had arrived at the bedroom Pansy shared with Harry a few hours ago, Pansy had been surprised to say the least. But her surprise had quickly given way to hope and excitement when he extended the offer of visitation to Octavia. Apparently, Draco believed that Octavia was ready to meet her after weeks in captivity. From the cuts and scratches on his bruised face, Pansy put Octavia's apparent amiability down to the evident fact that she had already expressed her violent rage onto Draco. Hopefully Octavia had no more violence to erupt – especially not in Pansy's direction.

So there she was, in the cold and damp tower bedroom of Malfoy Manor, waiting for Octavia to exit the ensuite.

Pansy glided gracefully beside the mantelpiece above the roaring fireplace, elegantly fingering a few ornaments as she inspected them with mild interest. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open caught her attention, but Pansy concealed her unease and excitement, turning to face Octavia in the doorway with absolute poise.

The blonde in the doorway was evidently shocked by Pansy's presence in the tower bedroom. A bedroom that was especially dank and chilly, even with the roaring fireplace, in Pansy's opinion. A pang of pity shot through Pansy at the thought – Octavia was essentially in a prison cell, but with a few pieces of furniture and a snoring puppy.

Holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender, Pansy took a calculated step back, retreating from the growing anger on Octavia's scrunched up face.

"Before you attack me," Pansy drawled calmly, "I ask that you at least hear me out."

In truth, it seemed that her words went in one of Octavia's hears and right out the other. The blonde's hazel eyes were simply alight with fury, reflecting the reds and oranges of the fire beneath the mantelpiece, burning with betrayal and fury. Pale slender fingers remained clasped firmly onto the doorknob, Octavia's knuckles whiter than the snow outside from the sheer tightness of the grip. But Pansy was grateful for one small detail: Octavia still seemed to be in a state of shock, and Pansy could use that moment of stillness to her advantage.

"I understand how you must be feeling, O." Pansy began, her voice almost threatening to quiver from her own anxieties. "I am aware that you know of what I did – but you don't know the whole story, so please, let me explain everything to you. If you still hate me after that, then I'll understand, but please just give me the chance to explain first."

Octavia's grip on the doorknob tightened impossibly, Pansy fleetingly wondering if the brass ornament would shatter in O's hand at any given moment. An image of Draco's almost mauled face flashed in her mind, reminding Pansy of the damage that the little muggle-born could inflict without a wand. A shudder almost dared to run down her spine at the threatening prospect; Pansy would surely never leave her bedroom again if she had to endure such facial injuries at Octavia's hands (or, more precisely, Octavia's dangerously sharp and durable fingernails).

"You might want to take a seat," Pansy advised cautiously, walking around the only chair in the room by the fireplace. Maintaining a safe distance was Pansy's number one priority.

From the shaky rise and fall of Octavia's bosom, Pansy knew that she was having difficulty calming herself enough to determine the best response. After what seemed like an eternity drenched in anxiety, Octavia sniffed snootily, flicked her short braid over her shoulder and stomped toward the armchair. Pansy took a few more steps away, ensuring that there were at least a few metres between them at all times. Just in case.

Their intense gazes never separated as Octavia neared, Pansy walking in a wide circle around the coffee table that separated them. Once Octavia seated herself prissily in the chair with a faux sense of calmness that only served to increase Pansy's distress, the brunette nodded once in approval.

"Great," Pansy smiled half-heartedly, Octavia's features remaining like stone. "I'm glad you chose to hear me out."

The intensity in Octavia's fierce hazel eyes never faltered as she sat motionless, waiting for promised explanation that would supposedly justify Pansy's betrayal of the entire Order of the Phoenix – as well as her betrayal of her best friend, Octavia.

Swallowing nervously, Pansy attempted to maintain her cool composure, but failed miserably under the piercing gaze of the seated blonde. She glanced around for a place to seat herself, but came up short and selected to stand at the other end of the coffee table, a safe two metres away from Octavia.

Clearing her throat, Pansy adopted Octavia's nervous habit of wringing her hands together, cursing herself inwardly for her unrefined display.

"Well," Pansy began, her shaky voice betraying her. "I suppose I should start from the beginning."

Octavia remained silent and still, her face displaying nothing but complete indifference, her eyes burning with fury.

"Right," Pansy breathed, gathering the courage to continue. "Uh, well … Do you … Do you remember that time I went in a team to Ireland? To find the Irish Resistance when we stopped hearing from them?"

Octavia blinked impassively at the nervous girl, not answering her question, but continuing to sit and wait patiently for the details.

"Well, it was …" Pansy hesitated, inhaling deeply through her nostrils. "It was then that I saw Harry. I was – Everyone was in the tents, either sleeping or going through the case files and the information we gathered that day, but I went out into the woods. I wanted berries, because I was simply sick of the same old boiled potato rations. That tiny little decision essentially had me captured by Snatchers in the woods, a mile away from the camp."

No intrigue or compassion showed on Octavia's face, only complete apathy.

"They summoned Harry," Pansy continued, evidently disappointed at Octavia's lack of reaction, "and he dismissed them. He told them to leave, and … all I could think about was how grateful I was that they wouldn't hunt down the camp. Harry and I … well, he gave me a chance to flee. I tried and he caught me. One thing led to another and …"

Pansy trailed off, not wanting to detail what had transpired that day. She didn't need to. Octavia caught the gist of it. The same thing had happened that very day to O and Draco; not the running part, but the despicable betrayal of one's own body.

A slight nod of the head from Octavia was all Pansy needed to continue.

"After we did _that_ , he uh … gave me a choice." Pansy sighed, her nerves obviously increasing. "Harry gave me a mirror. One that connects to his. He promised that you and I would both be safe if we were with him and Draco. I was just so tired of everything, O. I knew you were too. We both cried ourselves to sleep at night, went without food and water for days on end, always running and moving, watching people we care about getting captured, hurt or killed. It was so draining. Harry caught me at my lowest point, and I was so weak for what he promised. I felt like I was with Harry from school, not the Lord we were fighting against."

Octavia nodded, her face still as stony as ever. The betrayal still shimmered in her hazel eyes, but Pansy noticed a glint of understanding. It was expected though. Of course Octavia would understand. She had been in the very same place at the same time. And when Draco had been captured, Octavia almost caved to him. Almost. But she didn't, whereas Pansy did to Harry. That was the difference. Octavia had chosen morals, whereas Pansy had chosen her heart and desires.

"I didn't use the mirror," Pansy said. "Not straight away, at least. I … I kept it, but I didn't use it. I was always thinking about it, about him. I tried to be strong, O, I really did. But I couldn't. When we got the abbey and set up base there, I contacted him. Just to talk. That's what it started off as; talking. We'd talk about the days back at school and how hard it all was now. He listened to me when I needed to vent, and he comforted me when I needed to cry. He was always there when I said his name into that mirror. He never ignored my calls, and he spent as much time with me in that mirror as I needed. I thought that he cared … I think he does … but I didn't realise that he was slowly using me, manipulating me."

Pansy released a heavy sigh, stepping around the coffee table a little, not too close to Octavia, but close enough to show that she was opening up to her. Her defences were lowering, inviting her best friend in, begging for her to understand.

"Harry started asking me questions," Pansy continued, her tone taking an ominous turn. "Small things at first, like how you were holding up, and the like. Questions that a friend would ask. Then his questions changed. He asked about my dreams and visions, how they were affecting me, what I was seeing."

"What did you tell him?" Octavia asked coldly, speaking for the first time since Pansy had arrived. It wasn't comforting to hear her voice. In fact, the sheer iciness of it only increased Pansy's unease.

"I told him the truth," Pansy answered regretfully. "I told him about visions that I didn't tell even you about. I kept seeing you … dead."

Octavia's complexion paled instantly, her eyes widening with horror and shock as she gazed at her friend. No longer was anger burning in those emotional hazel eyes, but fear and surprise.

"I dreamt about you dying almost every night, O." Pansy whispered sadly, seating herself on the coffee table, facing a horror-struck Octavia. "It happened in so many different ways. One night, you'd be … burnt. It wouldn't even look like you. It was just a burnt body. And then other times, you had taken your own life. Sometimes it was your body in a bathtub, other times you'd thrown yourself off the roof of a building. The worst ones, though, were the ones in battle. You'd get struck by stray curses and die. Draco would kill everyone after it and them himself … I didn't understand then, but Harry would die right after him. I understand it now – they are connected and can only die by the other's hand, but if one dies, the other follows. But even when I didn't understand back then, I still dreamt it. And in those dreams I'd just be left standing there alone, everyone around me dead, and I'd kill myself."

Horrified hazel eyes turned glassy with palpable fear, Octavia's lips parting in complete awful awe. The fright in her eyes was there for anyone to see, and Pansy did; she saw it, felt it radiate from the blonde's body, tasted it in the air. It was simply dreadful.

"Harry said if we went to him and Draco that that wouldn't happen to you." Pansy sighed. "He said that you'd be safe – that we'd all be safe. But I had to help him and Draco get to you. So … I helped them. With the Gryffindor Sword – we didn't need it, really. It was used in their final ritual, but … any ancient dagger or knife could've been used. I set the whole thing up, and … I did it so that Draco could be brought to the abbey. I knew with him there they'd use you to break him. But you still loved him so much, and I thought that maybe he could convince you to come back with him. I just wanted you to be safe, Octavia. I wanted both of us to be safe. I don't want any of us to die. With Theo dying, it just … it broke my heart. I can't imagine how I'd survive if you or Harry died. I'm sorry that I betrayed you, but I … thought I was doing it for your own good."

Octavia nodded marginally, her lips still parted, eyes still wide with horror. It was clear as day that the girl was in complete shock at the visions of her own death in so many different ways. But nothing was written in stone, right? Pansy hoped not. Pansy hoped that it was a vision that could change with a different path. And now, they were on that different path that would hopefully lead to Octavia's survival.

"I kept talking to Harry for a while after that," Pansy whispered, dreading the next revelation she was about to relay. "I fed him information, I gave him updates. He didn't tell me much about what they were doing or what their plan was, but I knew they had one. And then I found out that … I found out that I was pregnant."

Octavia's eyes widened even more if possible, looking rather comical in truth. Pansy wouldn't have been surprised if she fell off the armchair in shock.

"When Harry and I had sex in the woods he whispered something afterwards. I didn't know what he whispered, but I didn't pay it any attention or ask. I just dismissed it. When I found out that I was pregnant I knew that he had cast a fertility spell on me. He made sure that I would fall pregnant with his child."

Pansy paused, her own eyes filling with tears that didn't fall down her cheeks, expertly keeping them at bay.

"I realised then that he had … manipulated me. He had really believed that if I was with his child, I would follow him blindly. I started paying more attention to my talks with him. I noticed how he deflected questions that I asked and turned them around on me, making me think that he cared more about my wellbeing than the war. He kept asking about my health, and I realised that he was trying to figure out if I knew I was pregnant or not. And then you were just so depressed and … I changed my mind. I figured that we were better off without them."

"That's when you decided to escape." Octavia breathed, understanding flashing in her conflicted hazel eyes. Pieces were evidently falling into place for her. "You talked to Hermione about escaping and convinced me to go with you…"

"At first I pretended to agree with Hermione," Pansy conceded. "I just went along with it, keeping tabs on her plans, but then everything else happened. I couldn't let them get to us, so I put more effort into it. I really was planning on running away with you and the others, but only for a while. I was going to take us away to another country when we had the chance.

"I had already told Harry about your fire powers and that it was getting uncontrollable. But Draco already knew, and … when he admitted to you that he had known for years, I realised he would take you soon. I realised that my visions of you burning were related to the fire you couldn't control and that Draco was going to take you before it could happen. I'd cut off contact by that point, but it was that that had made me realise they were going to escape sooner than I had thought. That's why Harry never told me about their plans: If we were one-night sooner in leaving we would've made it, O. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Octavia smiled softly, absolutely no trace of sweetness in the gesture.

Pansy stiffened at the cruel smile on her friend's features, accurately sensing the anger still radiating from her slender body. Perhaps it wouldn't be as easy as she had first anticipated.

"You're sorry," Octavia repeated, nodding thoughtfully as she flicked her gaze up, towards the ceiling.

"I know that it doesn't make up for what has happened because of my choices," Pansy explained hastily. "But I am truly sorry for those choices that have brought us here. I just acted on impulses and did what I thought was best for you – for us both."

"What about the others?" Octavia asked coolly. "Did you think about them when you snuck around, giving information to the Lord we were fighting against?"

"No." Pansy answered honestly. "I care about you, so the others … I'd put them all at risk to save us both."

"You mean 'yourself'," Octavia corrected coldly. "To save _yourself_."

"Look at it however you wish to," Pansy sighed sadly, "but I made those choices for the both of us, not myself."

"And how's that working out for you?" Octavia asked with faux sweetness. "Good, yeah? Living a nice life of luxury with _Lord Potter_? Is he keeping you warm at night, Pans? With our people out there, in the freezing cold winter, others locked away in the dungeons, probably getting tortured, and you're just living a happy little life?"

"What about you?" Pansy retorted. "You're not in the dungeons, you're not out there fighting, O. We're both trapped in this manor, and we're both the prisoners of the men we love."

"Because of you!" Octavia shrieked, jumping off the armchair, flinging herself at the brunette.

Pansy's brows shot up in surprise before she was swiftly tackled off the coffee table and onto the harsh stone floor with an audible _thump!_ Groaning at the collision, Pansy rubbed weakly at the back of her head, but a new surge of pain that struck through her. Octavia had slapped her. Not in a harsh way, but in the most brutal, hateful manner.

Gaping up at the furious blonde, Pansy lay frozen on the floor, in total shock. While she had dreaded this possible outcome, she hadn't really expected it to actually occur. Due to her surprise, Octavia's second slap across the face went completely unblocked.

Defence mechanisms shot up inside of Pansy, the need to protect herself outweighing the knowledge that she was there to repair her friendship with Octavia. Screaming in outrage, Pansy lunged up at the blonde, snatching a fistful of her plaited curls and yanking brutally.

Octavia cried out in agony, fierce burns of pain assaulting her tender scalp as Pansy hauled her body onto the ground by the hair. Kicking out her legs wildly, Octavia used her sharp nails to tear at the hand in her curls, shredding Pansy's skin apart as she screamed in pain and absolute fury.

Pansy screeched wildly at the pain in her hand, using her free hand to whack relentlessly at Octavia's head. Craning her neck to evade the blows, Octavia latched her teeth onto Pansy's inner forearm, biting down with all her might, feeling the flow of metallic liquid pour into her mouth.

"Ow!" Pansy shrieked, quickly releasing Octavia and scrambling backwards. "You bit me!"

"No shit!" Octavia cried, shimmying around frantically before pouncing on her again.

Before Octavia could connect with Pansy, the brunette raised her legs as she sat on her bottom, kicking out just in time. Octavia grunted as Pansy's stilettoes collided brutally with her gut, the heels sending sharp jolts of pain through her abdomen. Pansy used the opportunity to gain the upper hand, diving onto the crouching Octavia, O landing on her back.

On the icy stone ground, the pair wrestled fiercely, biting, scratching, slapping repeatedly, pulling each other's hair, Octavia going as far as to kneeing Pansy in the groin. Despite playing dirty, however, it was evident that Octavia was losing to Pansy in the scrap – if it was a contest. Which it wasn't.

Amidst the chaos, Octavia must've lost one of her shoes, for the moment that Pansy kicked her side, she glanced up and saw the sandal perched on the edge of the coffee table. Grunting at the sharp pains in her side, Octavia snatched the make-shift weapon and scrambled backwards to evade a second brutal kick, this one aimed at her breasts. Probably payback for the undoubtedly excruciating knee to the crotch.

"Eat my dirt, bitch!" Octavia cried, diving at the brunette, successfully straddling the flailing girl after much effort. Octavia panted harshly as she stuffed the tip of her sandal into Pansy's mouth, dishevelled blonde curls framing her wild face. Pansy screamed, the sound muffled by the shoe wedged into her mouth, slapping out furiously at Octavia, only just missing each time.

Laying on her back, shoe in her mouth, Pansy slammed her palms back onto the ground, feeling around for some type of weapon. Her legs flailed wildly, her hips jerking upwards, attempting to hurl Octavia off her body without success.

Pansy groaned through the sandal as she grabbed onto a strange item on the floor, using it to whack Octavia's forehead. The blonde grunted as she fell off Pansy at the harsh impact, the sound of metal clanging ringing through the air. Pansy glanced at the item in her hand, sputtering out the sandal from her mouth, her brows furrowed as she stared at the dog bowl full of sloppy meat.

"Fuck!" Octavia shouted, her once-clean hear now smeared in wet dog food. "That's disgusting!"

"Yeah," Pansy breathed, gazing at the dog bowl before shrugging.

Pansy lunged at Octavia with the make-shift weapon, stuffing it right into her face, covering her features in the potent sludgy meat. Gurgles and gags were muffled by the smelly dog food, Pansy also dry-retching from the wafting stench of the food stuffed into Octavia's face. With two hands, Pansy pressed the dish into O's face, ignoring the struggles of the blonde who continued to gag and squirm.

A grunt escaped Pansy as Octavia suddenly punched her right in the boob, sending fires of agony through the delicate breast. It wasn't enough to get Pansy off of her though.

Octavia's hand quickly disappeared into the cracks of the bowl pressed against her face, gathering hefty scoops of the dog food before remerging. Pansy shrieked as Octavia's hand smacked against her mouth, forcing chunks of the food inside, the brunette scrambling backwards to evade the rancid food. Thrusting out her feet wildly, Octavia successfully kicked Pansy square in the chest, propelling her further away from her.

A loud smack sounded out through the bedroom as Octavia whipped the dog bowl off her face, proceeding to heave up vomit onto the stone floor. No further assaults came, so Octavia merely assumed that Pansy was also vomiting, but after a few moments she glanced at the girl, her blood running cold at what she saw.

Blood dripped from the corner of the coffee table onto the face of the unconscious girl sprawled out on the floor. Pansy's eyes were closed, her lips parted, dog food smeared across her chin and lips, entirely motionless.

"Fuck," Octavia breathed before gagging at the lingering potent taste of the dog food. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Clambering around on the ground, Octavia crawled hurriedly over to the unconscious girl before checking for a pulse. Though, she quickly remembered that she didn't know how to check for a pulse and panicked further.

"Oh God," Octavia groaned, nudging Pansy's tranquil face repeatedly. "Wake up … Pansy, you need wake up!"

Nothing. The girl was entirely motionless, blood now pooling around her head on the ground.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Octavia cursed frantically, glancing around the room with wide terrified eyes. "Dobby!"

The house-elf popped into the room with a loud crack, eyes bulging out its head at the sight.

"Get Draco!" Octavia shrieked, not glancing at the elf as it disapparated. Octavia cupped Pansy's cheeks in her dog food-smeared hands, gently tapping as though it would cause the girl to awake. Of course, it didn't.

The front door burst open without warning, both Harry and Draco barging into the room, both looking furious, yet incredibly concerned. Harry faltered for a second upon seeing Pansy unconscious on the floor, covered in slimy brown stuff, scratches and bruises and cuts scattering her face, blood pooling around her head. He quickly jumped into action, racing toward his lover, Draco at his heels. Octavia didn't even notice Dobby apparate back into the bedroom, looking terrified as ever.

"Summon a healer!" Harry barked, scooping Pansy up into his arms.

Octavia sat on her knees at the spot where Pansy had been a moment ago, tears filling her wide eyes as she gaped at the unconscious girl in Harry's arms. She watched in shock as Harry raced out of the room, Dobby disapparating again, presumably to summon a healer like Harry had ordered.

"It was an accident," Octavia whispered, staring at the doorway that Harry had disappeared through with Pansy. "I didn't mean it."

Draco stepped toward her, hands in his pockets, disapproval gleaming in his glowing silver eyes as he stared down at her coolly.

"I … We were fighting and … I kicked her … I didn't think …" Octavia muttered, staring stupidly at the open door.

"Look at yourself," Draco drawled with utter distaste. "Is this what you want in your life, Octavia? You are covered in Merlin knows what, you absolutely reek, you are bleeding and injured, and you just rendered your best friend unconscious. Is this the life you want for yourself?"

"I didn't mean to," Octavia whined, her face scrunched up in anguish, tears streaming down her face. "I didn't mean to hurt her like that … I just ..."

"You didn't mean to," Draco interrupted sarcastically, staring down at her without pity as she sobbed. "I would wager a bet that you initiated that fight. Whether you meant it to go as far as it did is irrelevant if you started it Octavia. Your outbursts are getting out of hand, and who knows the damage you have done to Pansy because of it. You want to act like animal? Is that it?"

"No," Octavia whined between sobs and hiccups, her face scrunched up wretchedly. "It – it – was an – an acid–dent."

Slowly, Draco dropped to one knee in front of her, his stoic expression remaining in place, silver eyes hardened with anger. His jaw clenched tightly as he curved his index finger, placing it beneath her slimy chin as he tilted her face upwards. The injured blonde continued to sob and whimper and whine, her body shaking with the sheer force of her fit. Her bottom lip quivered, fluttering beneath her top teeth as she inhaled shakily, tears and dog food soaking her face.

"I had thought you had gotten the anger out of your system following your violent attack on me," Draco admonished coldly, causing her to bow her head in shame. "I had thought that perhaps you were mature enough to express your anger toward Pansy in a manner that didn't involve violence. It appears that I was very wrong indeed. Do you have anything to say for yourself, Octavia?"

Sobbing horridly, Octavia couldn't even manage a full word without whimpering and hiccupping, so she shook her head miserably, the shame radiating from her pores.

"We will have to see how Pansy recovers – _if_ she even does." Draco continued, only serving to increase her sobs. "Until then, you will think about what you have done and how you behaved. You will clean this bedroom yourself, _not_ with the help of Dobby, and you will prepare your apology in the event that she wakes up. Do you understand?"

Octavia nodded pitifully, her breaths hitched as she tried to calm her breathing. In that moment, she only wanted his comfort. She needed him to hold her and tell her that it would all be alright, but instead, he reprimanded her. Perhaps it was a fair response from Draco, but it wasn't the one she needed.

Draco regarded her coolly for a moment before rising to his feet, making to depart the bedroom, but he was stopped.

"Draco," Octavia whimpered, gazing up at him as she wept. "Ple-ase, do-n't go."

"I have to check on Pansy," Draco drawled coolly, staring down at her with stony eyes. "I have to clean up the mess you made."

Draco went to turn around, but her hand hesitantly reached out, slender fingers clasping onto his black trouser leg, stopping him. Draco inhaled in a bid for patience, staring down at the pitiful girl on the floor, seeing the desperation for his comfort.

After a moment, Draco conceded, unable to ignore the clenching of his heart at the sheer pathetic sight of Octavia. Still angry with her though, Draco employed no tenderness as he crouched down in front of her and scooped her up into his arms. Octavia curled up against his chest as he stood, Draco carrying her to the bathroom in order to shower away the grime that covered her.

When they reached the shower, Draco twisted his hand around the knob, turning on the warm water that quickly rained down upon them. They both remained fully clothed as he knelt on the floor of the shower, his white shirt soaked completely, now transparent and displaying a blurred image of his scarred muscular chest. Octavia rested her head on his pecs as he used a cloth and soap to wash away the blood, dirt and dog food from her body, starting with her shoulders.

A small slither of comfort was offered in his mildly gentle movements, one arm firmly holding her drenched body against his, the other tenderly wiping away the mess. Octavia's sobs calmed gradually to nothing but hiccups and occasional muttered apologies, but Draco said nothing. His eyes and expression said it all; he was simply enraged at her behaviour. But he didn't speak of it and offered the only piece of comfort that he could in that moment.

Because that is what she needed.


	21. Chapter 21

The best part about being rendered unconscious by a best friend was undoubtedly being allowed to eat breakfast in bed. Harry normally demanded that he and Pansy ate at the table on the balcony, or the smaller table by the window inside of the lush bedroom. But since she had only awoken from her head injury a few hours ago, Harry had Kreacher bring her breakfast spread on a tray.

Propped up against a mountain of fluffy pillows, Pansy sat the tray on her lap as she picked at the decadent buffet of foods. Harry sat beside her, a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and a few opened letters scattered at his feet, laying forgotten. Instead, he helped himself to Pansy's breakfast, frequently eying the side of her face to assess her health.

"Stop looking at me like that," Pansy mumbled uncharacteristically, dipping a rasher of bacon into the saucer of hollandaise sauce. "I'm fine."

"That you are," Harry grinned, wiggling his brows suggestively.

Pansy rolled her eyes, but couldn't stop a small smile forming at her healed lips. No traces of the scrap with Octavia remained on her appearance, for Harry had assigned three healers to treat her that night. Perhaps he had gone a little overboard on how many healers he had summoned to the manor, but Pansy wasn't complaining for she felt no hint of pain from the injuries she had endured.

Still; Harry may have ensured that she was healed to full health, and apparently in a teasing and casual mood with her, but his frequent assessing gazes said otherwise. He was definitely still concerned about her health. A realisation that brought Pansy great big bouts of happiness.

"Octavia wants to see you again to apologise," Harry informed bitterly, the atmosphere suddenly tensing. "I told Draco that I will not allow it."

Understandingly, Pansy nodded as she chewed a mouthful of poached eggs, but couldn't help feeling a little vexed at Harry's decision. Once she swallowed the food, Pansy took a small sip of her latte before pushing the tray off her lap, turning to face him.

"I understand why you are worried and angry," Pansy said carefully. "The way Octavia acted was totally uncalled for to _you_ , but to her it wasn't. It shouldn't have gone as far as it did, but I think she may be less volatile now that she has gotten the anger out of her system."

"Draco made the mistake of thinking the same after she attacked him," Harry countered, his green eyes darkening at the direction Pansy was taking the conversation. In no way was he prepared to put Pansy into a dangerous situation with the unpredictable hurricane who went by the name Octavia. "Her emotions are uncontrollable, and frankly, I will not endanger you by allowing another encounter. My answer is no."

"I didn't ask a question," Pansy drawled, quirking her perfectly sculpted brow.

"Yes you did." Harry stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for compromise or negotiations. "Until Octavia shows vast improvement in her behaviour, you are not to see her."

"What if I encounter her in the manor somewhere?"

"The rosters of your chaperone times will be managed by myself and Draco," Harry explained. "We will ensure that another meeting doesn't occur without our permission and presence."

"That's a little extreme, don't you think?" Pansy drawled coolly, patronising him.

"No." Harry clipped. "I don't think it is extreme that I wish to protect you from her. Yes, it was an accident that you hit your head, but the consequences of the injury could have been much worse than they were. There is no use in discussing the matter further, Pansy. My word is final."

Pansy narrowed her eyes as she raised her chin defiantly, bristled by his authoritative tone. But she knew better than to argue her case further, so fell silent while glowering at him. Harry regarded her coolly as she turned back around in the bed, leaning against the pillow, her hardened stare fixing ahead. A few moments passed before Harry sighed quietly in defeat, cupping her cheek firmly, forcing her face to align with his again.

"You may think I am being unreasonable, but I assure you that I have your best interests at heart," Harry explained. "My only fear is losing you, Pansy. A fear that has haunted and tortured me for years, and will for many more to come."

Pansy's expression softened somewhat as she remained silent, the quietness between them coaxing Harry to continue.

"Have you ever encountered a boggart before?" Harry asked, slipping his hand from her cheek to rest on her thigh. Pansy shook her head in response. "I have. It isn't a pleasant interaction to experience, but one that can be mastered with practice. I use my occlumency skills to prevent a boggart from entering my mind and discovering my worst fears, so ultimately, the creature has no effect on me. But that shouldn't suggest that I have no fears to discover."

Shifting her body in the bed to face his completely, Pansy lay her cheek on the mountain of pillows, gazing patiently into his emerald green eyes. Harry's eyes, however, appeared haunted in a sense, a shadow of awful memories she knew naught of swarming beneath the constant glow.

"Now, after everything, the only fear that I possess is losing you." Harry informed, no humour or teasing in his severe tone. "We both know the reason for that fear, and I believe that you return my feelings, Pansy. When I entered Octavia's bedroom and saw you on the floor like that – blood pouring out of your head, completely motionless – I relived that fear. I felt as though it had come to be. So forgive me if you think I am overreacting, but I will not risk that outcome transpiring. All the silent treatment in the world will not change my mind."

Pansy blinked stupidly at him for a moment before a seductive smile tugged at her lips. The almost confession of his love for her had her soul alight with absolute desire and fulfilment. Pansy's meeting with Octavia had caused her to question every decision she had ever made, and whether or not she had truly been correct in those choices. But now, in this moment, Pansy knew that she had done right by herself. Octavia too, but the blonde nutter just didn't know it yet. Both girls were truly with the men who loved them, and the men that they themselves loved in return.

Of course, Pansy didn't actually admit that she loved him. Not yet anyway. It was an emotion that made one weak. Both she and Harry weren't at the stage in their relationship to expose their vulnerabilities to each other yet, and admitting love for someone else was the ultimate vulnerability of all. So they let the unspoken words linger between them before Harry's own lips twisted into a smirk that mirrored Pansy's suggestive one.

Despite all the damage that Pansy had caused from her choices, she felt as though it had all been worth it. In that moment, at least.

Come morning, her certainties would be wiped away entirely.

* * *

 _"Again!" Lucius demanded, aiming his wand at Harry._

 _Harry panted and shivered on the mossy ground of the dungeons, dry-retching repeatedly as his body heaved. The incessant tortures of the cruciatus curse were taking its toll on his young body, but Harry climbed to his feet regardless, his legs almost giving out beneath him._

 _"Faster, boy!" Lucius commanded, Harry struggling to stand up straight, a sheen of glossy sweat covering his face. "A Lord never shows pain!"_

 _"Yes, Lucius," Harry panted, raising his chin confidently, his hands scrunched up into fists at his sides._

 _"Crucio!" Lucius shouted, Harry instantly dropping to his knees as his body shook and jerked and jolted. "Fight it, boy! Fight the pain! A Lord does not feel the pain of the curse! Are you a Lord, boy?"_

 _"Ye-e-sss," Harry hissed out through gritted teeth, writhing wildly on the floor._

 _"Then act like it! Stand!" Lucius demanded, still holding the curse on the young boy, no older than thirteen._

 _Harry groaned, resisting the urge to scream and cry like he used to years ago. Instead, he shut his eyes tightly, clenching his jaw as he willed his legs to obey his orders. They didn't move willingly, however, and only jerked and shivered from the force of the curse upon his body._

 _"Disgraceful!" Lucius spat, finally ending the curse as Harry gasped. "Have you no shame? Or do you simply not wish to take your rightful place at the throne when you come of age? Is that it, boy? Do you not wish to be a Lord? Or do you wish to end up like your parents? Dead in the ground, forgotten by their own son. What about Sirius Black? Do you want to end up like him? Alone in an old dank house, miserable, latching onto the only thing that reminds him of his murdered friend? Or do you want to rule?! Do you want power?!"_

 _"No, Lucius," Harry breathed, shakily getting to his feet._

 _"No?" Lucius repeated with absolute horror._

 _"No, I mean … Yes, Lucius. I want to be a Lord. I want to take my rightful place." Harry rasped, legs collapsing beneath him, sending him to the ground. "I want to be powerful; in control."_

 _"You will be nothing if you keep this up much longer!" Lucius spat venomously. "You are pathetic, Potter. How do you expect to lead the wizarding world into order and structure if you cannot endure a simple cruciatus curse?!"_

 _"Practice, Lucius." Harry stated firmly, his voice hoarse and tired. "Again."_

 _Lucius regarded the bespectacled boy for a moment before nodding his head once in approval. The screams of Draco could be heard ripping through the corridors of the dungeons, the other destined Lord yet to master his training. Although, Bellatrix's crucios were much more violent than Lucius could ever dream of._

 _"Your brother is equally as pathetic as you," Lucius snarled, referring to Draco and his echoing string of screams. "Both born from the same great sorcerer, but he would be ashamed to see you both now. Barely able to withstand a mere curse. Pathetic, the both of you!"_

 _"Again!" Harry shouted, heckled and baited by the sharp words._

 _"Atta boy," Lucius praised with a smirk, raising his wand. "Crucio!"_

* * *

Octavia was ashamed to admit that she and Draco had spent the entire night, day, afternoon and evening together. He hadn't left her side since the incident with Pansy, and while he had been upset with her for the majority of the night, he had softened come bedtime. Her incessant tears and apologies seem to have that effect on him. Friskiness of the tender sort had ensued, perhaps more than once, not that Octavia would admit it to a single soul. The shame was too great.

By the time Draco departed the bedroom it was well passed dinner, and into the early hours of the night. So, due to the time, Octavia was a little taken off guard when a knock sounded at the thick wooden door of the damp and cold tower bedroom. But she had a very precise idea as to who the late visitor was. Blaise had undoubtedly come for his answer.

Groaning in reluctance, Octavia pushed herself away from the heat of the fireplace and dragged herself over to the door. The short distance to the door took a lot longer than expected, given the sheer extent of her dread at meeting Blaise that evening. But with everything Pansy had said, Octavia had finally come to a decision.

So when she opened the door to reveal the correctly guessed visitor, she stepped to the side and allowed him entry to the bedroom. Blaise was leaning against the doorframe arrogantly, a smirk playing at his pink lips. He gave her flannel pyjamas a once over before scoffing in mock disapproval and pushing himself from the panel.

"It's cold in here," Octavia explained with exasperation, justifying her less than attractive attire.

"So it would seem," Blaise drawled, strolling passed her as she slammed the door shut.

Octavia rolled her eyes as she followed him further into the bedroom. She scowled as he walked passed a sleeping Hope on the buffet table without so much as a pat or a scratch on the belly. Honestly, did no one care about the dog but her?

Scooping the whimpering, snoozing puppy into one hand, Octavia cradled her in her palm and fingers as she continued to follow Blaise. He seated himself in the armchair, leaving nowhere for Octavia to sit, so she stood awkwardly in front of him.

"I heard you kicked Pansy's ass," Blaise grinned, reclining casually in the chair.

A fierce blush crept up onto her cheeks, Octavia having the decency to look ashamed.

"It was an accident," Octavia mumbled, shuffling her feet nervously as though he would berate her like Draco had done.

"Was it?" Blaise asked, his grin widening as his humour increased. "The way I heard it is that you stuffed a shoe into her mouth, covered her in dog food and proceeded to crack her skull on the corner of the coffee table. That's quite an accident to have, I must say."

"The … skull part was the accident," Octavia frowned, looking utterly humiliated. It was most certainly nothing to be proud of.

"Well, she probably deserved it," Blaise shrugged, loyalty causing him to take Octavia's side without question. "Pansy has recovered, so all is well."

"Yeah, Draco told me," Octavia nodded, relieved that Pansy hadn't slipped into a coma or worse. "I want to see her and say sorry, I guess, but Draco said … He doesn't think I can control myself."

"Mm," Blaise hummed, his grin fading into a smirk. "If I'm honest, I have to admit that I'm incredibly surprised."

There it was. The scolding. Octavia immediately bowed her head in a demonstration of shame.

"I always thought that, if you and Pansy were to fight, she would mop the floor with you," Blaise grinned, a laugh daring to escape him.

Frowning in confusion, Octavia raised her head and met his stare. There was not a single glint of scolding in his black eyes, only amusement and a dash of entertainment.

"She kind of did," Octavia admitted meekly, blushing profusely.

"Now that isn't surprising at all," Blaise laughed. "I've seen Pansy scrap before. She has one hell of a right hook."

"She shoved dog food in my face," Octavia scowled, relaxing somewhat, seating herself on the edge of the coffee table. "I ate some of it by accident. It's really gross."

"Pansy wasn't the only one playing dirty, as I heard it." Blaise laughed, grinning widely, perfect white teeth on show. "Stuffing a shoe into her mouth? Honestly, Tavs, I have to give you kudos for that."

Octavia shrugged. "Draco was pretty pissed off. I don't think he saw the funny side at all."

"He's never had much of a sense of humour," Blaise dismissed. "Speaking of the blonde devil, who lacks humour that I don't, have you chosen? Our _Lord_ has left for Ireland and isn't due to return until tomorrow evening. The Irish Resistance and all have to be dealt with. So now would be the most opportune time, Tavs."

Instantly, Octavia stiffened, holding the tiny pup in her hands, hazel eyes dimming as they met black orbs.

"Yeah," Octavia nodded, looking rather grim. "I've made my choice."

"And?" Blaise prompted, the smirk gone, only poorly concealed eagerness shining in his dark eyes.

"I choose you."

* * *

 _The orange glow of the dancing flames in the fireplace illuminated her pretty face to artistic measures. He stood beside the sofa in the Slytherin common room, brows furrowed as his mind put the pieces together. Black eyes scanned the beautiful face beneath him, Tavs sprawled out on the leather sofa, lips parted, snoring and drooling without any trace of delicacy._

 _Blaise couldn't understand it. One day they were close friends, brother and sister almost. The next, she was snogging Draco all over the school, and Blaise's heart broke a little more each time._

 _He thought of waking Octavia when he had entered the common room after a late-night rendezvous with a Ravenclaw. Everyone else had retired to bed already, so why Octavia was still asleep on the sofa baffled him. Surely Draco would've taken it upon himself to wake her up before sending her off to her much comfier bed in the girls' dormitories. It was rather strange._

 _Still; Blaise wasn't sure if he would wake her or not. It was much nicer to watch her sleep and smirk at her when she muttered and snorted. Which was surprisingly a lot._

 _Hesitantly, Blaise lowered himself to kneel on the rug-covered floor, finding himself at face level with the snoring girl. A smirk tugged at his lips as she rubbed her nose sleepily before murmuring and falling silent again. He wondered what she dreamt of. Probably Draco. It wasn't a nice thought for Blaise to entertain, but it was likely that Draco consumed her dreams. She was simply infatuated with him now._

 _How things had changed._

 _Perhaps if Blaise had learned of his feelings toward Octavia prior to her relationship with Draco, he could have swayed her in his direction. Again, it was not a nice thought to entertain. For it only served to stir regret inside of him._

 _Fortunately, Tavs appeared to be happy with Draco. Mind you, their relationship was young, – three months young to be precise – therefore Blaise still had time. Should their relationship crumble he would be there to pick up the pieces, as well as her heart._

 _Hesitantly, Blaise raised his hand to her cheek, the cheek that was dry from the lack of drool, unlike the other one. Cupping her cheek cautiously, as though she would awake at any given moment, Blaise watched expressionless as she smiled faintly in her sleep. He felt as though he was studying the most fascinating creature known to the magical world._

 _Leaning toward her slowly, Blaise pressed his lips against her forehead, stray curls tickling his nose as he kissed her sweetly. It felt wrong to kiss her lips whilst she slept – as well as the fact that she was attached to another; that other being a close friend of his – so he settled for the soft skin of her forehead._

 _As he kissed her gently, he felt her brows furrow against his lips, unintelligible murmurs escaping her before silence fell over them once again._

 _Deciding against waking her, Blaise pulled away and rose to his feet. He would sleep on the other sofa instead. The Slytherin common room wasn't a place to leave a young muggle-born sleeping alone, entirely vulnerable to the nastier of the snakes in the pit. But, as it turned out, Blaise didn't need to stay with her._

 _As he stepped away, his back connected with something solid, Blaise whipping around to face the object. But it wasn't an object he had collided with. It was a person._

 _Draco stood there, eyeing him curiously, both remaining completely silent, silver eyes burning with realisation and knowledge. He didn't speak. He just stood, staring at Blaise. Assessing. After a moment, Draco stepped around Blaise, his silver gaze fixing on the snoring girl on the sofa._

 _"How long?" Draco asked coolly, his back to a relatively nervous Blaise. Although, Blaise would never show his nerves of course._

 _"I don't know," Blaise answered honestly._

 _His feelings for Octavia could have transpired at any point since he had first met her, but he had only realised them a few months ago. So in truth, he really didn't know how long he had harboured romantic affections for the muggle-born._

 _"Aren't you going to hit me?" Blaise quirked his brow, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he stared at the back of Draco's head. "At least hex me?"_

 _"No," Draco said. "Octavia would have a fit if I did."_

 _"So what then?" Blaise drawled, supressing a yawn. Whilst the situation wasn't exactly a desirable one, and Draco's wrath was worthy of fear, Blaise had totally exerted himself that day, particularly with the Ravenclaw. He was definitely due for bed._

 _"Nothing." Draco shrugged. "I don't blame you for feeling a certain way about her. She's magnificent. I trust that you will not cross the boundaries, but that you will do everything in your power to protect her from harm."_

 _Blaise wasn't certain as to what Draco meant exactly, but in his opinion, he got off rather easily. After all, Draco had obviously seen Blaise kissing Octavia's forehead whilst she slept and all. But then again, it was a general rule to not leave anyone alone in the Slytherin common room at night, so was Blaise really to blame?_

 _"I think I always knew," Draco admitted, crouching down to place a pillow beneath her head. "The way you are with her … I always knew."_

 _"At least one of us did," Blaise smirked, no humour whatsoever in the gesture. It was certainly a smirk of total and absolute bitterness._

 _Blaise watched as Draco draped a blanket over the slender body of Tavs, tucking her in cosily. The blonde pure-blood then seated himself at her bare feet, moving them around to rest on his lap. Blaise understood that Draco would be spending the night with her there, so took his leave._

 _Even if he would have preferred to be the one on the sofa with the curly-haired, sassy, spoilt muggle-born, he couldn't. Alas, it was a feeling he would get used to over the years._

* * *

The sound of a quill scratching on crisp parchment sounded out, Octavia biting her bottom lip in concentration as she wrote hurriedly. The bracelet that restrained her powers jingled with every move, flick and twitch of the hand, curls billowing down the side of her determined face.

 _Ninny,_

 _Blaise will meet you at the edge of the woods by Malfoy Manor tomorrow morning at exactly 11.34pm. A guard shift happens then, so it can't be before or after. He's going to help us. Please, please, please trust me on this. He really is helping us, he's not setting us up, ok? I know you and I know you don't want to trust anyone, especially my friends, but please just trust_ _ **me**_ _on this one, ok?_

 _Make sure no one sees you when you get there. I know where the dungeons are, so we'll break everyone out too. Draco is in Ireland tomorrow and Blaise says that Harry is going there in the morning too so we'll have a better shot when they're not here. He got me a wand to help too, but it's a bit old and it doesn't feel right, so I don't know how much help I'll be but I'll try, I promise. Pansy isn't coming with us. I'm not sure if she would come with us or not but we can't trust her. I kind of got into this fight with her and … we'll just leave her here I think._

 _Bring wands for the people in the dungeons just in case we have to fight. The manor should be pretty empty though so I hope it doesn't come to that. I'll be ready when you get here. I'll meet you and the others inside. Blaise will bring you to the dungeons and that's where I'll be._

 _I miss you so much and I can't wait to see you Ninny. I hope you're all safe and well and … good luck._

 _Love, O._


	22. Chapter 22

**ENDING 1: PART ONE**

* * *

Octavia didn't have many appropriate clothes for the activities she would participate in that day. With Narcissa and Bellatrix as her own personal shoppers, her attire generally consisted of silk gowns and strappy stilettoes. Though she was lucky enough to have a little input as to what clothes were purchased for her. Not much, but a little.

Due to her scarce input, Octavia stood by the dungeon door in relatively casual attire. Her feet wore white canvas shoes, comfortable enough for running in should she need to. Ripped blue jeans adorned her slender legs, hanging low on her hips. The baggy white singlet she wore was a little on the translucent side, therefore showed the blue lace of the bralette she wore beneath the top. All in all, her attire was considerably casual and appropriate for the escape attempt she was anxiously awaiting. The mere thought of attempting that day's tasks in heels and a gown was certainly a daunting one to behold, so she was never more grateful for the muggle clothing than in that moment.

Cluttered sounds of nearing footsteps caught her attention, Octavia whipping around to face the narrow corridor ahead, watching with wide watery eyes as people stepped into her vision. Blaise was first to reach the illumination of the lights above, but Octavia only had eyes for Hermione. Face scrunching up in absolute delight, Octavia sprinted toward her cousin, Hermione racing forward to meet her halfway.

The Granger cousins collided harshly, embracing each other tightly, desperate to never let go lest they be parted again. But warm displays of family reunited were cut short by Blaise as he placed his hand on O's shoulder, attempting to nudge her away from the weeping Hermione.

"We don't have time for this," Blaise whispered, more footsteps nearing them. "Entertain your embraces later, but right now we have to keep moving."

Octavia snivelled as she pulled away from her cousin, nodding her head in agreement. Watery eyes tore away from the familiar face of Hermione, scanning the others behind Blaise, recognising all of them. Sirius, Lupin, Ron, and Neville stood stiffly in the corridor, wands at the ready, eyes shifting around them suspiciously. Octavia hadn't known that they had survived, but in truth, she had expected more of them.

"Stay here," Blaise whispered to Octavia. "Keep guard while we get the others from the dungeons."

"Ok," Octavia sniffed, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. "Be careful."

Blaise smirked at her before he turned on his heels and strode toward the dungeon door. A few muttered spells and the door clinked open, revealing a mossy and decayed stone staircase. The Order members followed Blaise into the darkness, the door slamming shut behind them, leaving Octavia alone on guard duty.

As minutes ticked by, Octavia paced up and down a short distance of the corridor, anxiously wringing her hands together in front of her, chewing her bottom lip incessantly. She knew there were guards and patrolling Death Eaters down in the dungeons, but she had been certain that Blaise would deal with them without effort. Now that she waited alone, however, doubts creeped into her mind.

What if Blaise wasn't skilled enough to take on a few Death Eaters at once? What if one of the Order members turned on him from suspicion and paranoia? What if he died down there?

Before she could drive herself mad with concerns and possibilities, however, footsteps clacked out, the sound of stilettoes hitting the marble floor resounding off the walls. Holding her breath in utter panic, Octavia stood frozen by the door to the dungeons, gripping her new wand tightly behind her back.

Bellatrix Lestrange and Pansy Parkinson came strolling down the hallway, both chatting together casually. Bellatrix snapped her gaze up to Octavia as they neared, a frown creasing at her brow slightly as she evidently wondered why Octavia was out of her tower without a chaperone.

Thinking quickly, Octavia plastered a sweet smile of greeting onto her features, stepping toward the two woman without care.

"Pansy," Octavia greeted, a little ashamedly. "I … I'm glad you're ok."

Pansy stared at Octavia without any hint of emotion on her face, seemingly just as shocked to see her as Bellatrix.

"I wanted to say sorry for what happened," Octavia mumbled, still holding her wand behind her back, feeling Bellatrix's assessing gaze rake over her. "I shouldn't have done what I did, and I'm really sorry. I was just so angry with you and … I should never have put my hands on you. Please, Pans, I'm so sorry."

Before Pansy could even part her lips to issue a response, Bellatrix stepped forward, slipping out her wand discreetly.

"Where is your chaperone, My Lady?"

"Huh?" Octavia frowned, pretending to be confused at the cloaked interrogation. "Oh, Blaise? He's just popped into the dungeons for a minute. One of the guards had a problem with someone, so he told me to wait out here."

"I see," Bellatrix nodded, entirely unconvinced. "You aren't supposed to leave the tower unless Lord Malfoy permits it."

"He did," Octavia shrugged, proud of herself for her casualness, when she was certainly being consumed by panic inside. "I asked him yesterday."

"The last time I spoke to Lord Malfoy he was adamant that you were not to leave the tower while he was gone." Bellatrix argued, but seemed to be a little confused now.

"Are you sure?" Octavia frowned. "He said I could leave if Blaise agreed to chaperone me, and he did, so … here I am. We were just going to the library anyway. You can go ask him if you want. I can't open the door, and he told me to stay out here, but he's in the dungeons, so you can go check with him."

"I will do that," Bellatrix nodded, brushing by Octavia, wand gripped firmly in her hand.

Octavia met Pansy's suspicious stare, slowly pulling her own wand in front of her before she whipped around.

Pointing her wand at Bellatrix's back, Octavia shouted, " _Bombardo!_ "

Bellatrix flew into the door, crashing loudly against it before she crumbled to the floor in a heap. Whipping back around to face a wide-eyed Pansy, Octavia aimed her wand right at her, hand shaking with the sheer force of adrenaline pumping through her veins. Ready to hex her friend, Octavia parted her lips to speak the spell, but was quickly interrupted.

"Octavia, watch out!" Pansy shrieked, pointing over her shoulder.

Octavia gasped as she spun around, finding herself face to face with an enraged Bellatrix, their wands pointed at the other.

"My Lady," Bellatrix seethed, eyes alight with fury. "I must escort you back to your tower and confiscate your wand. Lord Malfoy will not be pleased to hear abo–"

" _Flippendo!_ " Octavia shrieked, Bellatrix deflecting the curse effortlessly.

Before Octavia could issue another spell, the dungeon doors burst open, prisoners pouring out into the corridor, clutching wands, staggering, torn and tattered and bruised. Blaise shoved passed them, slashing his wand through the air, eyes black with fury. Bellatrix screeched as his silent spell tore the flesh of her back, blood sputtering out of her mouth before she collapsed to the ground.

"Are you ok?" Blaise panted, rushing over to a horrified Octavia. "Tavs, look at me."

Octavia blinked at the bloody, gory woman on the floor, watching as she twitched, life dimming from her insane eyes. Blaise cupped her cheeks, forcing her eyes to meet his, concern furrowing at his brow.

"Are you ok?" Blaise repeated. "Did she hurt you?"

Octavia could only manage a shake of the head, blinking stupidly at him, shock and horror consuming her. Suddenly she remembered Pansy's presence, gasping as she spun around to face her friend. But Pansy was nowhere in sight. She was gone. Not a trace of her.

"Pansy," Octavia breathed, pointing at the spot she had last seen her friend. "She was here … she was with Bellatrix … right there, Blaise! She was right there!"

"Fuck," Blaise cursed, running his fingers through his hair. "Hey, Tavs, look at me."

Octavia tore her wide eyes from where Pansy had been moments ago, meeting Blaise's gaze.

"It'll be alright." Blaise assured. "We'll get you out of here, ok? Trust me."

"I trust you," Octavia nodded, allowing him to plant a soft kiss on her lips. She didn't miss the gasp from Hermione at the sight, but ignored it entirely.

"Let's go," Blaise announced, turning to face the prisoners and Order members. "Stay close, if you fall behind, you get left behind. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, but Ginny and Ron glowered at the Italian venomously, their lips curling in pure hatred. Octavia fleetingly recalled the bad blood between them. Blaise had been the one to kill their mother, so the hatred was understandable. She just hoped it didn't get in the way of the mission. The mission being to get the hell out of Malfoy Manor.

"How are we getting out?" Octavia asked as they all began to walk – or in some cases, hobble – down the corridor toward the foyer.

"Through the front door," Blaise smirked, wand held at the ready.

"You're kidding," Octavia raised her brows, scurrying to keep up with his brisk pace.

"It's the only way out," Blaise shrugged. "Most of the guards have been dealt with already, and the others are with Harry and Draco in Ireland. Our only problem is Pansy."

Blaise may have made it sound like an insignificant issue by his casual tone, but Octavia knew that it was no such thing. Pansy's loyalties were a mystery to everyone, so it was unknown what her response would be to what she had witnessed. And how much she had witnessed was also unknown. Octavia just hoped for the best, but knew that it was unlikely at the same time.

After a few minutes of frantic jogging, hobbling, panting and whispers, the group finally reached the balcony at the end of the winding corridors, and the staircase that came with it. Blaise peered over the side of the wall, glancing down at the foyer, noticing that it was thankfully void of guards. He motioned with a wave of the hand for the others to begin descending the stairs, some of the prisoners so injured that they had to be supported by another.

Hermione supported the weight of Luna as they slowly reached the top of the staircase, Neville helping Lavender, and so on. Blaise and Octavia remained at the top of the stairs, Blaise covering them while waiting for the Order members to reach the foyer. In pairs, the prisoners and Order members climbed down the marble steps, all holding onto the barrier for balance. It wasn't until she heard the rustling of robes behind her that Octavia glanced over her shoulder and noticed that Ginny and Ron remained at the top with them. It didn't sit right with Octavia.

Feeling tense and suspicious, Octavia stepped closer to Blaise, keeping her narrowed eyes on the Weasley siblings. Ginny met her suspicious gaze, hard blue not betraying any other emotion but hatred.

Screams suddenly tore out through the manor, coming from the foyer and the staircase. Octavia whipped around to face the source of the screams, seeing an army of cloaked Death Eaters pour into the foyer from the fireplace and front door. Draco and Harry stormed in, looking absolutely murderous, their stares darting to Octavia and Blaise.

Pointedly staring at a gaping Octavia, Draco raised his hand and wandlessly fired a string of hexes at the staircase, causing an explosion of massive measures to erupt. The force of the blast sent Octavia and Blaise flying back, both connecting with the harsh wall as Ginny and Ron crumbled to the floor. Screams of agony ripped through the smoggy air, debris crashing down all around them as the stairs caved in.

Octavia cried out as she scrambled to her feet, stumbling forward, her eyes filled with anguish at what she saw. The marble staircase crumbled completely, all prisoners and Order members falling with it. She couldn't see anyone. She could only see debris, random hands and legs sticking out of the rough boulders and rocks of marble. Blood everywhere. Screams, some muffled, but all coming from beneath the collapsed ruins of the staircase.

Before she could even try and get down to save her cousin from being crushed to death – if she hadn't been already – Octavia was thrown to the side, tackled onto the ground by Blaise. Jets of light, curses, hexes and spells, soared above them, colliding and exploding against the wall, missing Blaise and Octavia, evidently aimed at the Weasley siblings.

"Octavia!" Draco roared, his furious voice sending shivers of fear down her spine. "OCTAVIA!"

"Come on," Blaise whispered, his voice thick with pain. "Go. Crawl and be quiet."

Octavia nodded as they both pushed themselves to their hands and knees, crawling through the thick smog of debris and dust that had been caused by the explosion. Draco's booming voice could be heard ripping through the air, but Octavia and Blaise kept going, crawling down the corridor, away from the chaos behind.

After a few moments, Octavia realised that Ron and Ginny were following them, scurrying on all fours to keep their brisk pace. Octavia hated them. She wanted them to get hit by the curses, to get caught and killed. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that they got to escape and maybe live while the others were trapped beneath debris, most likely to be dead already. It wasn't fair. But none of it was.

Her true hatred should rest with Pansy. For she was undoubtedly the reason for the arrival of Death Eaters and the Lords. If Octavia had ever had any chance of forgiving Pansy for her betrayals, she surely didn't anymore. If she ever saw Pansy again, the brunette bitch better hope that all Octavia would do is render her unconscious again. For in that moment, Octavia had too much anger to settle for such a meagre reaction. Octavia had murder on her mind.

Blaise jumped to his feet, grabbing Octavia's arm and hauling her up with him. Ron and Ginny quickly followed as they all took off at a hurried sprint through the corridors, Blaise leading the way.

"Where are we going?" Octavia wheezed, racing beside Blaise, cramps assaulting her body from sheer exertion.

"The staff quarters," Blaise panted, his hand never letting go of Octavia's arm. "There's a tunnel we can use. It leads to the woods. If we can get there, we can disapparate."

"We can't just leave Hermione – we have to go back!" Octavia shouted, struggling to keep up as Blaise essentially dragged her through the corridors.

"She's gone!" Blaise barked. "If she isn't dead already, she will be in a moment, Tavs. We have to keep moving if I'm going to get you out of here!"

Octavia instantly began to sob, her harsh breaths and hitched inhales interrupting her blubbering. But Blaise didn't slow down, if anything he increased the speed of his sprint, racing through the never-ending maze of corridors, holding onto her arm tightly.

Ginny and Ron kept up well with the pair, their harsh breaths scratching through the thick air between them, wands gripped in their hands, dangerous eyes fixed on their guide.

Draco's booming voice could be heard calling out for Octavia again, only serving to increase her panic. She daren't imagine what would happen if she were caught, especially with Blaise. If he was unlucky enough to be captured by Draco, Octavia couldn't bear to think of what would happen to him. Not only had he tried to free Octavia from the manor, but he had successfully taken Draco's lover from him. All in all, it wouldn't be a positive outcome if they were caught.

"Almost there, Tavs," Blaise panted, veering off to another seemingly endless corridor. "I'll get you out of here, I promise."

Octavia sobbed and blubbered beside him as they sprinted, the Weasley siblings right on their heels. Draco's voice could no longer be heard, nor could any sounds of chaos or footsteps. Perhaps they had outrun them? Perhaps they really had a shot? Octavia dared to hope. She dared to hope that she would escape, and that she and Blaise could flee without a scratch. It was all she could focus on in that moment. Blaise was her only surviving friend who had been loyal to her. She owed it to him to keep going – she owed it to him to follow through on her promise.

All hopes of defeating the Lords were thwarted. No Order members remained other than those running through the corridors. No chance of victory existed for them. But there was always the chance of escape and living away from the world created. Blaise and Octavia could escape – they could live away, in another country, happily. Untouched by the putrid world spreading across the seas. Blaise and Octavia could go to an island perhaps. One that is isolated and cut off from civilisation. They could get a cottage, maybe? And they could live there, together, both following through on their promises, and Octavia could be happy. Yes. It seemed realistic. It was. It was in her grasp, so very near.

But it wasn't really. For the moment they veered off onto the final corridor, all four of them halted to a sudden stop, defeat consuming them entirely.

Draco and Harry stood in front of the door to the staff quarters, apparently guessing Blaise's backup plan. Draco looked on the verge of exploding with rage, his burning, haunting, glowing, silver eyes penetrating Octavia's watery hazel orbs. She gasped between sobs as Blaise yanked her behind him, using his own body to shield her from Draco's wrath. But no wrath came.

Draco pushed himself from the door, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched tightly as his gaze snapped to Blaise's. If looks could kill Blaise and everyone in his blood line would have dropped dead right in that very moment.

"You set us up," Ron panted hoarsely, murderous eyes burning into Blaise's head.

Octavia whipped around, holding her wand, aiming at the advancing Weasley siblings who were definitely out for blood. Blaise pressed his back against Octavia's, aiming his own wand at the approaching Draco, the Lord moving with slow, predatory steps.

"You set us up!" Ron shouted, ignoring Octavia's defensive stance, aiming his wand at the back of Blaise's head.

"He didn't!" Octavia shrieked, wand pointed right at Ron's furious face. "No he didn't, you fucking moron!"

"I hoped that it wouldn't come to this," Draco drawled, his voice dripping with cold ice and fury. "Alas, some things cannot be avoided it seems."

Blaise kept his wand aimed at Draco, Harry standing by the door, watching with mild interest. Blaise couldn't kill Draco, even if he tried. Only the Lords could kill one another. So it was useless, and Octavia quickly realised that. In a desperate act to save Blaise, Octavia whipped into motion. So to speak.

"Draco," Octavia whimpered, unable to see him, for she still faced the Weasley siblings, keeping them at bay with her raised wand. "Draco, listen to me."

"Shut the fuck up!" Draco roared, causing her to flinch and shiver. "You dare speak to me, you treacherous whore!"

"Draco!" Octavia whined, feeling his rage lash around the corridor, Blaise's back pressed against hers, tense as ever. "Draco, please listen to me! If you kill him – if you kill Blaise, I'll never forgive you! He was just trying to help me, I swear! It was all my idea, Draco! Please – Please don't hurt him!"

"Say another word!" Draco bellowed. "Say another fucking word, Octavia, and I will decorate you in his intestines!"

Choked sobs escaped her shivering lips, her body almost crouched over from the brutal force of the anguish and fear inside of her. Blaise tactically remained silent, but kept his wand raised and aimed at Draco. Black eyes watched as Draco's face contorted in absolute heartache and brutal rage, his tense body almost shaking with the sheer force of his fury.

"Step aside," Draco snarled, molten silver eyes fixed on Blaise's stare.

"No." Blaise clipped, knowing that if he was to do so, Octavia would be vulnerable to Draco's impending wrath. "I won't let you harm her."

"I'm going to a lot more than harm her," Draco growled, stepping closer ever-so-slowly. "You hear that, Octavia? I'm going to destroy you like you have destroyed me."

"You already have!" Octavia shrieked, the agony almost too much to bear. "YOU ALREADY HAVE, DRACO! WHAT MORE CAN YOU DO?"

Draco's eyes flashed suddenly, darkness surrounding him, danger billowing out through the corridor. Suddenly, ropes came out of nowhere, wrapping around Blaise, Ginny and Ron quickly, restraining them as they all collapsed to the ground. Octavia whipped around to face the manic Draco, her hand shaking violently as she tried to aim her wand at him.

"Draco, please," Octavia whined as he stormed toward her. "Draco, no! What are you going to d–"

Draco's hand shot out like lightning, belting her across the face with such force that she was propelled to the wall, crashing against it harshly. Blood poured out of her cut cheek as she felt to her knees, an awful, gut-churning, heart-wrenching, blood-curling scream tearing through her throat, heartache drenching her cries. Cupping her assaulted cheek, Octavia whimpered, gazing up at the furious Draco as she snarled down at her, pure disgust radiating from his tense body.

"Did you fuck him, Octavia?" Draco growled, stepping toward her shaky, cowering body on the floor. "DID YOU FUCK HIM?"

"No!" Octavia shrieked, shaking violently as he crouched down beside her.

Octavia screamed as he belted her again, over the head, causing her whole body to smack down on the marble floor. Scrambling into the foetal position, Octavia covered her head with her bloodied hands, whimpering and recoiling in front of him like she coward she was.

"Draco!" Blaise shouted, struggling violently against his restraints. "Draco, stop! It was all me! Leave her out of this!"

Draco inhaled shakily, seemingly attempting to control his rage. His stormy silver eyes never left Octavia as Blaise shouted. A cry escaped Octavia as Draco snatched a fistful of her hair, yanking her to her feet before he tossed her down beside Blaise. Octavia whined pitifully as she scrambled closer to Blaise, cowering against him as though it would save her.

"Shh," Blaise hushed, still fighting against the ropes that bound him. "Tavs, look at me – look at me, Tavs."

Octavia hyperventilated as she pushed herself up from his body, meeting his comforting black eyes, barely able to see through the tears that obscured her own vision.

"Shh," Blaise hushed again, drinking in her pretty face, despite it being scrunched up in agony, tears and snot and blood smeared across it. "Look at me, don't look away."

Octavia snivelled and nodded, whining as Draco's footsteps paced up and down, his rage whipping around them brutally.

"I love you …" Blaise whispered as she blubbered and sobbed. "I need you to be happy, Tavs. Forgive me for this."

"It's not your fault," Octavia whined, shaking her head in denial.

"Look at me!" Blaise barked, catching her stare once more. "Don't look away. Only look at me, ok?"

Octavia coughed and nodded, her face scrunched up in absolute horror. Draco still paced by them, his indecision and fury only increasing her palpable fear.

"Forgive me," Blaise repeated, gazing up into her watery, blood-shot eyes. "Forgive me for what I'm about to do. I love you, and I want you to know that, Tavs. I love you more than anything else in this world. Even if you are an ugly crier."

Octavia sobbed harder at his attempt at a joke, finding nothing funny in the situation at all. She knew that he was trying to calm her, but it wasn't working. Far from it.

"Obliviate," Blaise whispered, maintaining eye-contact with her, watching as hazel glazed over, lips parting, tears suddenly ceasing. "I'm sorry, Tavs."

Vision clouded over, but all Octavia could see was Blaise's black eyes and splatters of blood. The crimson liquid poured out of his mouth, a knife suddenly protruding from his throat. Blood everywhere. So much blood. Pain assaulted her body, her head, her arms, her legs, her fingers and toes.

Octavia writhed on the ground, gurgles of agony escaping her lips, but she didn't register what was happening to her. The effects of Blaise's spell lingered in her mind, dismantling memories, stealing precious things from her. She saw hazy images of Draco standing above her, crucio-ing her without mercy. Blaise's dead body lay beside her, but she couldn't really figure out what that meant. Slowly, she found that she didn't know the man lying beside her. She didn't know or recognise his tanned, handsome, lifeless face. She only knew the man above her, punishing her for reasons she wasn't aware of.

The last thing she saw was the tanned man beside her, blood still pouring out of his mouth, cheek pressed against the floor, vacant black eyes gazing into hers. But even though he was dead – this man she didn't know – she saw something in his glassy eyes. Love.

But the realisation was gone before she could totally comprehend it and Octavia found herself submerged into darkness. And when she awoke, all those weeks later, she had no idea who she was.

Octavia Granger didn't know of her own identity. And she would never remember the man who sacrificed himself for her ever again.

Blaise Zabini was dead. In life and in her memories.


	23. Chapter 23

**ENDING 1: PART TWO**

* * *

Those very first weeks back at Hogwarts were some of Octavia's favourites. The atmosphere always buzzed with excitement, lingering on magically through the month, but the summer warmth is what acquired Octavia's preference. It was the same each year, and in Octavia's third year, it was no different.

Instead of journeying down to the wizarding village that sunny Saturday, the Slytherin clique had taken to hanging out by the Black Lake. Octavia and Blaise lay side by side on the grassy slope, watching the clouds wisp by at a relatively speedy pace. The others were enjoying a dip in the shallow shore of the lake further down, but Octavia wasn't the best swimmer, and Blaise had stayed behind with her.

"That one looks like your hair," Blaise said, pointing up at the most shambolic cloud in the sky.

"That one looks like your face," Octavia scowled, pointing up at the dreariest cloud with gaps and birds in it. "A mess."

Blaise didn't respond, which was strange, for he normally retorted a witty comeback within a mere second. Frowning in confusion, Octavia continued to gaze up at the sky, watching the clouds harden and mesh together, seemingly taking the form of a high ceiling with chandeliers and detailed engravings. The sun slowly transformed into scattered lights from the chandeliers, and the sky was no longer visible. Even the heat of the sun had disappeared, along with the warm breeze.

"Blaise?" Octavia frowned, turning her head to the side, facing her closest friend.

He was staring at her already. But the scenery behind him was no longer of the Hogwarts grounds, but now a single hard wall, apparently made of marble or some material of equal expense. That wasn't what startled Octavia, however. It was the blood pouring out of his mouth that had her eyes widen in absolute horror.

Strangely enough, Octavia didn't move. She just lay there, gazing into the black eyes of her best friend, seeing a spark of love and adoration within them. How odd.

Even odder, however, Octavia's body began to tense and jerk, writhe and squirm. Groaning in pain – pain that she didn't actually feel – Octavia returned her gaze to the ceiling, but only saw Draco standing above her.

Stormy silver eyes reeked with absolute fury as he stared down at her, his jaw clenched tightly, his appearance that of a man's and not a boy's. Her body wouldn't stop writhing, and she didn't know why, but she suspected that Draco had something to do with the strange movements she couldn't control.

Slowly, and with great difficulty, Octavia returned her attention to Blaise, finding that he was still there, but no longer breathing. He was dead. And he was not a boy anymore. He was a man, which was odd, for they were in their third year, enjoying a day by the Black Lake.

Before Octavia could experience the crippling emotional agony at seeing her friend in such a state, confusion begun to seep into her mind. It was all very confusing, very odd and peculiar.

"I love you," Blaise's voice said, but his bloodied lips did not move.

Octavia frowned at him, her body jerking wildly on the grass, hearing a wretched scream tear through the air. Fleetingly, she recognised the scream to be her own, but that was impossible, for she was not screaming. She wasn't making any noise at all.

Suddenly her body stop writhing. Draco still stood above her – that much was certain in her peripheral vision. But nothing assaulted her anymore.

Draco dropped to his knees beside her, crying into his hands, speaking muffled phrases that she couldn't understand. Something of forgiveness, perhaps? She couldn't be sure.

In fact, Octavia wasn't sure of anything in that moment. She was no longer on the grassy grounds of Hogwarts, but lying on the floor of a corridor in some wealthy estate. It was so strange. There was a man lying beside her – a tanned, handsome man with black eyes, staring right at her, but dead. She didn't know who this man was.

All Octavia knew was that she felt incredible guilt and anguish for the man's death. Somehow, she felt as though he died at her hands. Somehow, she felt as though she was to blame for his untimely passing. But that was silly. She didn't know the man, so how could she have caused his death? Octavia didn't know.

Her surroundings began to shimmer, morph and merge together into one big cloud of confusion.

"Octavia," Hermione called out, her voice echoing through the cloud of confusion, but she wasn't visible to Octavia. "Octavia, remember. Remember us. Fight."

Fight what?

Octavia didn't know. She had no idea who was speaking to her, or how this person knew her name. Perhaps Octavia had once known this woman? But how could one simply forget a whole person?

"Octavia," Draco croaked, kneeling beside her, tears running down his cheeks, holding her hands in his. "Octavia, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

Octavia tried to respond – she tried to inquire as to what he required forgiveness for, but her lips wouldn't utter the words brewing in her throat.

"I'll never hurt you again, Octavia, please wake up," Draco sobbed, their surroundings suddenly that of a tower bedroom.

No tanned man lay beside her anymore, and no strange female voice called out to her. Only Draco was with her, and that was just fine with Octavia. Draco loved her – he provided her with a sense of comfort in the scariness of her confused mind. Draco would protect her.

"Wake up, Octavia," Draco pleaded, brushing his knuckles over her pale cheek. "Wake up."

*.*.*

Octavia gasped as her eyes snapped open, her body jerking from the bed, tangled in sweaty sheets. Flimsy memories of a tanned man and woman's voice swarmed her fuzzy mind as she sat upright in the bed, panting manically, perspiration drenching her body. As reality began to sink in, all evidence of her dreams faded quickly, disappearing before she could grasp onto the shards of memories.

"Another nightmare?" Draco's soft voice asked, the man sitting up to run his fingers through her wild curls.

"I … I don't know," Octavia breathed, running her clammy hands over her sweaty face. "I think so, yeah."

"Come here," Draco sighed, pulling her slender body against his, embracing her tightly in his arms.

Octavia nuzzled her face into his bare chest, seeking and finding comfort in the arms of her husband. The darkness of the night sky poured into the grand bedroom they shared as husband and wife, opulence shrouded in the dimness. Sparse candles hung from the walls, flames flickering weakly, providing sparse illumination to the occupants of the room.

"Perhaps you should take sleeping draughts again?" Draco suggested, his face buried in her tight curls.

"No," Octavia frowned. "It's not good for the baby."

Draco nodded slightly, feeling her hands shift against his body to cradle the pregnancy bump at her stomach. Only four months into her pregnancy had Octavia ceased taking her much-required sleeping potions, after Pansy had implied that the effects may harm the foetus. Draco had to agree, but found that he would prefer Octavia to sleep well, without distress, than to protect their unborn child from possible harm. His first priority was Octavia.

"Do you remember anything?" Draco asked gently, referring to her nightmare.

"Same as always," Octavia smiled against his scarred chest before placing a kiss on the smooth skin. "I remember you telling me to wake up."

Draco smiled against her curls, his embrace tightening noticeably, holding his beloved in his arms. Her response to the question he asked almost nightly was no different. She only ever remembered Draco.

In truth, Draco had no idea as to how Blaise performed such a precise spell on Octavia in his last moments, but he had, and Draco couldn't deny that he was quite grateful for it. Now, Octavia only ever remembered him. One year after that fateful night, and Octavia had yet to remember Blaise, Hermione, or the others. All memories of the Order of the Phoenix and the war were gone from her fragile mind. Octavia only recalled sparse memories from her time at Hogwarts, every single one of them relating to her intimate and romantic relationship with Draco.

No longer did Octavia remember her complex and treacherous friendship with Pansy Parkinson. No memories of the war lingered in her mind, so Octavia believed that her role as Queen was a fair and reasonable position to possess, due to her marriage.

But Draco remembered everything. He remembered how she had tried to leave him, and with their shared friend at that. He remembered the gut-wrenching agony that it had caused him. He remembered that she did, in fact, try to escape him. The pain of it all still lingered within him, forever assaulting his healed heart.

"Say it, Octavia," Draco whispered, his tone pleading with her. "Say it."

"I love you," Octavia smiled against his chest. "I'll never leave you."

Until she spoke those words, Draco hadn't even realised that his body had tensed. For once she spoke those words, he relaxed noticeably, melting against the woman in his arms.

"I love you too," Draco whispered, visions of his attack on Octavia plaguing his mind. "I'll never hurt you, Octavia. I promise."

Octavia hummed by means of a neutral response. He said that to her often, but each time, Octavia had no idea as to the reason for such a promise. To her, he need not promise such things, for Octavia knew that there was nothing in this world that could force him to harm her. Not a damn thing.

Draco was far too much in love with her, and she him. They were the King and Queen of the world, ruling beside Lord Potter and Queen Parkinson. But Octavia never truly noticed on pivotal problem with that – she never noticed that the title of 'Lord' was greatly higher than that of 'Queen'. Octavia never noticed that she was still beneath Draco in terms of rank, but even if she did, she would see no problem with that. It was just the way the world was. The way it had always been.

A world ruled by Lord Potter and Lord Malfoy.


	24. Chapter 24

**Ending 2: A Fantasy World**

* * *

 _This is a one-shot fic that centres on the romantic relationship between Blaise Zabini and Octavia Granger in 'A Whole New World.' A fantasy story that shows what could have been …_

* * *

Octavia sobbed and blubbered beside Blaise as they sprinted, the Weasley siblings right on their heels. Draco's voice could no longer be heard bounding through Malfoy Manor, nor could any sounds of chaos or footsteps. Perhaps they had outrun them? Perhaps they really had a shot? Octavia dared to hope. She dared to hope that she would escape, and that she and Blaise could flee without a scratch. It was all she could focus on in that moment. Blaise was her only surviving friend who had been loyal to her. She owed it to him to keep going – she owed it to him to follow through on her promise.

All hopes of defeating the Lords were thwarted. No Order members remained other than those running through the corridors. No chance of victory existed for them. But there was always the chance of escape and living away from the world created. Blaise and Octavia could escape – they could live away, in another country, happily. Untouched by the putrid world spreading across the seas. Blaise and Octavia could go to an island perhaps. One that is isolated and cut off from civilisation. They could get a cottage, maybe? And they could live there, together, both following through on their promises, and Octavia could be happy. Yes. It seemed realistic. It was. It was in her grasp, so very near.

But it wasn't really. For the moment they veered off onto the final corridor, all four of them halted to a sudden stop, defeat consuming them entirely.

Draco and Harry stood in front of the door to the staff quarters, apparently guessing Blaise's backup plan. Draco looked on the verge of exploding with rage, his burning, haunting, glowing, silver eyes penetrating Octavia's watery hazel orbs. She gasped between sobs as Blaise yanked her behind him, using his own body to shield her from Draco's wrath. But no wrath came.

Draco pushed himself from the door, hands in his pockets, jaw clenched tightly as his gaze snapped to Blaise's. If looks could kill Blaise and everyone in his blood line would have dropped dead right in that very moment.

"You set us up," Ron panted hoarsely, murderous eyes burning into Blaise's head.

Octavia whipped around, holding her wand, aiming at the advancing Weasley siblings who were definitely out for blood. Blaise pressed his back against Octavia's, aiming his own wand at the approaching Draco, the Lord moving with slow, predatory steps.

"You set us up!" Ron shouted, ignoring Octavia's defensive stance, aiming his wand at the back of Blaise's head.

"He didn't!" Octavia shrieked, wand pointed right at Ron's furious face. "No he didn't, you fucking moron!"

"I hoped that it wouldn't come to this," Draco drawled, his voice dripping with cold ice and fury. "Alas, it seems some things cannot be avoided."

Blaise kept his wand aimed at Draco, Harry standing by the door, watching with mild interest. Blaise couldn't kill Draco, even if he tried. Only the Lords could kill one another. So it was useless, and Octavia quickly realised that. In a desperate act to save Blaise, Octavia whipped into motion. So to speak.

"Draco," Octavia whimpered, unable to see him, for she still faced the Weasley siblings, keeping them at bay with her raised wand. "Draco, listen to me."

"Shut the fuck up!" Draco roared, causing her to flinch and shiver. "You dare speak to me, you treacherous whore!"

"Draco!" Octavia whined, feeling his rage lash around the corridor, Blaise's back pressed against hers, tense as ever. "Draco, please listen to me! If you kill him – if you kill Blaise, I'll never forgive you! He was just trying to help me, I swear! It was all my idea, Draco! Please – Please don't hurt him!"

"Say another word!" Draco bellowed. "Say another fucking word, Octavia, and I will decorate you in his intestines!"

Choked sobs escaped her shivering lips, her body almost crouched over from the brutal force of the anguish and fear inside of her. Blaise tactically remained silent, but kept his wand raised and aimed at Draco. Black eyes watched as Draco's face contorted in absolute heartache and brutal rage, his tense body almost shaking with the sheer force of his fury.

"Step aside," Draco snarled, molten silver eyes fixed on Blaise's stare.

"No." Blaise clipped, knowing that if he was to do so, Octavia would be vulnerable to Draco's impending wrath. "I won't let you harm her."

"I'm going to a lot more than harm her," Draco growled, stepping closer ever-so-slowly. "You hear that, Octavia? I'm going to destroy you like you have destroyed me."

"You already have!" Octavia shrieked, the agony almost too much to bear. "YOU ALREADY HAVE, DRACO! WHAT MORE CAN YOU DO?"

Draco's eyes flashed suddenly, darkness surrounding him, danger billowing out through the corridor. Suddenly, ropes came out of nowhere, wrapping around Blaise, Ginny and Ron quickly, restraining them as they all collapsed to the ground. Octavia spun around to face the manic Draco, her hand shaking violently as she tried to aim her wand at him.

"Draco, please," Octavia whined as he stormed toward her. "Draco, no! What are you going to d–"

Draco's hand shot out like lightning, belting her across the face with such force that she was propelled to the wall, crashing against it harshly. Blood poured out of her cut cheek as she felt to her knees, an awful, gut-churning, heart-wrenching, blood-curling scream tearing through her throat, heartache drenching her cries. Cupping her assaulted cheek, Octavia whimpered, gazing up at the furious Draco as she snarled down at her, pure disgust radiating from his tense body.

"Did you fuck him, Octavia?" Draco growled, stepping toward her shaky, cowering body on the floor. "DID YOU FUCK HIM?"

"No!" Octavia shrieked, shaking violently as he crouched down beside her.

Octavia screamed as he belted her again, over the head, causing her whole body to smack down on the marble floor. Scrambling into the foetal position, Octavia covered her head with her bloodied hands, whimpering and recoiling in front of him like she coward she was.

"Draco!" Blaise shouted, struggling violently against his restraints. "Draco, stop! It was all me! Leave her out of this!"

Draco inhaled shakily, seemingly attempting to control his rage. His stormy silver eyes never left Octavia as Blaise shouted. A cry escaped Octavia as Draco snatched a fistful of her hair, yanking her to her feet before he tossed her down beside Blaise. Octavia whined pitifully as she scrambled closer to Blaise, cowering against him as though it would save her.

"Shh," Blaise hushed, still fighting against the ropes that bound him. "Tavs, look at me – look at me, Tavs."

Octavia hyperventilated as she pushed herself up from his body, meeting his comforting black eyes, barely able to see through the tears that obscured her own vision.

"Shh," Blaise hushed again, drinking in her pretty face, despite it being scrunched up in agony, tears and snot and blood smeared across it. "Look at me, don't look away."

Octavia snivelled and nodded, whining as Draco's footsteps paced up and down, his rage whipping around them brutally.

"I love you …" Blaise whispered as she blubbered and sobbed. "I need you to be happy, Tavs. Forgive me for this."

"It's not your fault," Octavia whined, shaking her head in denial.

"Look at me!" Blaise barked, catching her stare once more. "Don't look away. Only look at me, ok?"

Octavia coughed and nodded, her face scrunched up in absolute horror. Draco still paced by them, his indecision and fury only increasing her palpable fear.

"I need you to choose, Tavs," Blaise whispered as Draco punched the wall opposite to them. "I need you to do something awful, but it is our only chance."

"Anything," Octavia whimpered, her watery hazel eyes gazing into his calm, soothing, black orbs. "Anything, Blaise."

Suddenly, Octavia frowned in confusion as she hiccupped, feeling a trickle of metal fall down her wrist. With shaky breaths plaguing her trembling body, Octavia glanced down at the source of the strange sensation, seeing her wrist void of her bracelet. The bracelet that Draco had given her was no longer fastened to her wrist, but now lay unclasped on the ground.

Draco roared and cursed and punched walls as he paced up and down the corridor, unable to decide on Octavia's punishment, but, thankfully, his delay allowed her time.

Awe sparked in her wide eyes as she met Blaise's patient gaze, her lips parting in horror at the implication of his actions. Blaise had clearly used whatever wandless magic he could muster to remove the bracelet from her wrist, and therefore, had allowed her powers to be unleashed … if she chose to use her powers, that is. Suddenly, she understood – Blaise was asking her to choose between him and Draco. Draco was surely about to kill Blaise, and steal him from her life, but she could prevent it. She could stop it from occurring.

Draco couldn't die, except by the hand of the other Lord – Harry. But who knew the strength or abilities of her wild, untamed fire magic? Yet, even if her fire powers didn't kill Draco, they would undoubtedly provide Blaise and herself with substantial time to flee the manor and escape to another life. A world free of the heartbreak, death, betrayal and misery around them. Only she and Blaise had stayed loyal to one another, and Octavia could only trust Blaise out of everyone left in her life.

Her decision was made.

Octavia hurriedly climbed on top of Blaise's restrained body, crouching over him in a defensive position. The act caught Draco's attention instantly, and Octavia could almost taste the jealous fury spark from his undoubtedly molten silver eyes, but in truth, Octavia didn't have the gall to look at him. Shutting her eyes into creased lines, Octavia embraced the powerful surges of rage, fear and sorrow within her. Draco's footsteps could be heard bounding toward her and Blaise, but Octavia focused only on the magic now freely coursing through her veins. The moment she felt like a cauldron ready to boil and bubble over, she shouted the words that would end her demented relationship with the man she once loved, or perhaps, still did.

"INFERNO!" Octavia shrieked at the top of her lungs, fire erupting all around her immediately.

The sounds of bodies slamming against the walls surrounded her, barely inaudible through the roar of the fire licking up and down the corridor. Octavia felt the heat of the fire pressing against her sweaty skin as she shook violently atop Blaise. Gritting her teeth tightly, she attempted to control the rampant fire that consumed all occupants of the hallway, screams ripping out through the air, presumably belonging to the Weasley siblings.

Blaise gazed up at the woman in absolute awe, unfazed by the droplets of her perspiration falling down upon him, only able to see the sheer brilliance in which the woman was. Tight blonde ringlets fell down the sides of her face as she trembled and wheezed, the flames of the blood-thirsty fire circling them dangerously, but never touching them.

Screams ceased, replaced with gurgles and gasps of pain, but Octavia knew none of those sounds to be originating from either Lord. She could feel the lives taken in the fire she created, and she knew that neither life was Draco's or Harry's. But as she couldn't hear either Lord, especially not Draco's cries, she knew the force of the blast had either knocked them out, or they had fled. Presumably the former, for neither Lord was cowardly enough to flee from fire that could not harm them.

"Octavia," Blaise rasped, his voice penetrating the roars of the fire around them. "Octavia, the ropes!"

Snapping her eyes open to meet his gaze, Octavia breathed harshly on top of him, taking a moment to comprehend what he had meant. Suddenly, she realised, and raised her hands high above her head, drawing in licks of flames into her palms. Red and orange slivers of fire soared toward her hands, encircling and twisting around her fingers affectionately, as though they had come home. In a way, they had.

The small slithers of flames danced down her extended arms as she closed her eyes in concentration, her brows furrowing and face scrunching up in Blaise's favourite way. The flames encircled and entwined the extraordinary woman, whilst the blazing fire consumed every other part of the corridor, never daring to touch either Blaise or Octavia. Blaise watched in utter awe as the flames swayed down her perfect figure to his bindings, hissing and licking at the rough rope, burning through them delicately and patiently.

Once his bindings were seen to entirely, Blaise hurriedly whipped the scraps of rope from his body before glancing up at Octavia. His expression swiftly morphed into one of concern at what he saw. Blood oozed out of her nostrils, rolled down her cheeks like tears, trickled from her ears, and worst of all, dribbled from her red-stained, parted lips.

The fire continued to roar wildly in the corridor, but with a few panicked side-glances, Blaise noticed that it began to draw nearer to them. He suddenly realised – Octavia was losing control of the magic she hadn't possessed much control over to begin with. But the fire needed to continue burning in order to shield both Octavia and Blaise from the Lords if they were going to escape successfully.

Blaise suddenly snaked one arm around Octavia's trembling waist as he scrambled to his feet, snatching the bracelet from the floor in the process. He took one hesitant step toward the flames circling him, noticing that they receded away from his approach. Thankfully, Octavia appeared to still possess enough control in that moment. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Springing into action, Blaise hauled Octavia over his shoulder, securing her in position with his hand as he grabbed his wand from the ground. Recalling his location in the corridor, Blaise faced the direction in which Harry was last standing in, praying to Merlin that the Lord had moved since the fire began. For the only way out of the manor was through the door ahead, and Blaise didn't have the time to attempt to fend off a Lord a thousand times more powerful than him.

"Tavs," Blaise coughed, the smoke from the fire seeping towards him. "Tavs, stay with me."

A strained groan was all he received in response, her body no longer trembling over his shoulder, but growing limp instead. Blaise slapped his hand onto her buttocks, firmly clutching onto the ample mound to secure her over his shoulder, but also trying to rouse a response from the woman. Octavia didn't even flinch, which only caused him further panic. For if she had the energy, he was certain that he would have received a kick to his precious jewels for groping her, even in their current dire circumstance.

Stuffing the bracelet into his pocket, Blaise coughed violently, the smoke billowing around him, Octavia no longer protecting them from the dangers of her fire. But how could she when she had relaxed over his shoulder entirely, evidently unconscious?

"Fuck," Blaise cursed before taking off at a sprint through the thick curtains of flames.

The flames parted like the Red Sea for him, but only marginally, causing his arms to sting from the fire as he ran. His footsteps bounded down the corridor, relaying his position and movements to the two Lords, should they listen through the roar of the wild fire. But Blaise encountered not a soul when he reached the door that offered his sanctuary. Well, not a soul who was awake, at least.

Lord Potter lay on the floor, charred completely from the initial explosion Octavia had caused. But his chest still rose and fell with each breath he took, informing Blaise that Harry was still alive. Of course he was, though – he could only die by Draco's hand, or his own, not Octavia's powers.

Barging through the door without a second glance at the Lord he had once called his friend, Blaise bolted out of the fire-consumed corridor, and down the stairs of the staff quarters. He had only one priority now, and that was Octavia. The woman who had risked her life for his, and vice versa.

The woman he had loved for years, and finally, after all this time, the woman he could call his own.

* * *

ELEVEN YEARS LATER

* * *

Blaise Zabini could be considered many things by many people. A liar, a scoundrel, a family man, a husband, a father, a traitor, a murderer, a hero, a torturer. It truly depended on who was asked. If one was to query the man himself, he would respond with only one answer – the luckiest man alive. Blaise believed these words to be true. He knew there was more to him than fortune and luck, such as the darker depths of him that seemed to have come from the most selfish pits of hell, but none of that mattered in the grand scheme of his life. Blaise had faced death, stared it dead in the eye, and was protected by the love of his life. He was many things, yes, but a hero, he was not. That title belonged only to his wife, Octavia Zabini. Or, as the small island locals knew her, Jane Williams.

Jane Williams was an ordinary name for an extraordinary woman, but it was a required name for a life on the run. Blaise – otherwise known as John – loathed the aliases they had chosen for themselves, but was smart enough to know that the sheer dullness of the names would protect them in brilliant ways. For Lord Malfoy was undoubtedly persisting in his search for the once-best-friend-turned-traitor, Blaise, as well as the once-sweetheart-but-always-love, Octavia. Thankfully, Lord Malfoy had yet to discover the married couple, even after a decade.

The success of their evasiveness primarily could be attributed to the lack of magic they used. Octavia wore the bracelet always to subdue her dangerously magnificent magical powers, and when she removed it, she ensured to use her fire magic sparingly. Blaise had grown accustomed to using his wand only when absolutely necessary to avoid capture. Their magic was hardly traceable, for they had both far exceeded the age of magical signatures, but should muggles notice their strange abilities, it could ignite whispers. And whispers had the undeniable potential to lead to capture. Only their quaint, beachside cottage offered the security and privacy to use their magic at times, but even then the spells were small. Just in case.

After all those years, Blaise knew that capture was not an option. Not only would he be killed on sight, he had no idea as to what his wife would endure for her betrayal, or if she would even survive it. Most of all, the dangers that capture offered were especially fatal to his son, Joshua. His pride and joy; a ten-year-old boy who embodied the success of Blaise's tasks and endeavours. A boy who resembled both mother and father in his curly brown her, dark hazel eyes, flawless olive complexion, and sneaky Slytherin behaviours. The boy was a replica of both Octavia and Blaise, in personality and appearance.

Should capture occur, Blaise knew that he would die. Both himself, and his son. For Draco would see Joshua as a mockery – a trophy of Blaise's deeds. Deeds that involved stealing the sweetheart of the most powerful man in the world. Yes, Joshua and Blaise would die if they were ever caught, but the fate of Octavia would be far worse than anything they could ever know. If she was permitted to live, Blaise couldn't imagine the tortures she would endure, as well as the added grief of a mother losing her child, and a wife losing her husband. Blaise couldn't allow that. He wouldn't allow that. After all, Octavia was his first priority – correction; his family was his first priority.

At that moment, Blaise's family sat around him at the quaint kitchen table in their cosy, spacious cottage. Their cottage was perched on the edge of the island, considerably far from the mainland of Italia. It was a tranquil island with minimal populace, and no magical community other than the Williams family. But the Williams had the best view – a view of the ocean waters, sandy beaches, their private vegetable gardens, and their private fishing boardwalk. The wards surrounding the entire island prevented apparation to and fro, so they had a perfectly adequate boat tied up at the boardwalk in the event that they needed to make a quick getaway.

At the table, Octavia sat to his left, pouring a mug of coffee for herself, but not one for Blaise – she was far too stubborn and selfish to pour him a drink. Joshua sat across from Blaise, laughing raucously at some video on his iPhone. Blaise believed the video to be a 'vine' or something of the sort. Those silly videos were of no interest to him, but Octavia sometimes watched them on her iPad, and found them to be thoroughly entertaining.

"Joshua," Blaise said sternly, his black eyes fixed on his son's gadget. "No phones at the table."

"It's his birthday," Octavia rolled her eyes, undermining Blaise without a care. "He can do what he wants."

"See, that's the kind of attitude I don't want him to have," Blaise argued, Joshua ignoring his parents altogether. "It is my birthday also, and he has to learn how to share the day, so can't expect to have everything he wants, Tavs."

Octavia raised her brows at her husband, a small smirk playing on her plump lips. "Um, it's not your birthday, Blaise. Your birthday isn't until next weekend."

"Yes, but I am so grand, that I deserve the whole month," Blaise said seriously as burst into Octavia laughter. "I don't know what's funny about that, Tavs. I'm not joking."

"Ignore your dad, Joshie," Octavia laughed, picking up her mug of coffee.

"Huh?" Josh frowned in a very Octavia-like manner, glancing up from the iPhone he hadn't taken his eyes off since seating himself at the table. "D'you say something?"

"See!" Blaise exclaimed, pointing accusingly at his son. "He wasn't even listening to us!"

Octavia flicked her gaze to her son, noticing that he had returned his entire attention to his iPhone, muffled voices coming from the small speaker at the base. He had forgotten his parents entirely again, and had resumed chuckling and snickering at the video he watched.

"He's multitasking," Octavia shrugged. "Watching a video and listening to us at the same time."

"Joshua," Blaise said, his son humming neutrally in response. "I'm going to have sex with your mother on this table when you go to sleep tonight."

"Uh huh," Josh said, evidently not listening to a word Blaise said.

Blaise threw his hands up in the air, pointedly staring at his wife, as though he had just proven his point. And he did. But Octavia still didn't care and merely stared at Blaise in palpable amusement.

Octavia smiled and shook her head lightly before tapping her hand on the table, catching her son's undivided attention instantly. Blaise scowled.

"Go get ready for school," Octavia smiled, Joshua narrowing his eyes at his mother instantly.

"It's my birthday," Josh whined, much like his mother did on a regular basis. "Can't I have the day off?"

"Yes," Blaise smirked wickedly. "If you want to watch me snog your mum senseless all over the house, that is."

"Ew," Josh shuddered, pushing himself from the chair. "I'll go to school."

"Atta boy," Blaise grinned, winking at his affronted looking wife.

Octavia sighed in exasperation as she stood from her chair, setting to cleaning up Josh's mess. Blaise followed suit, assisting his wife who loathed to clean with a burning passion – pun not intended.

"It's your turn to drive him," Blaise sneakily murmured as Josh's footsteps up the stairs echoed through the beach-side cottage.

"Uh, I don't care," Octavia frowned. "You can drive him."

"That is hardly playing parenthood fairly, Tavs," Blaise grinned widely, attempting to convince her with his charm.

From the blank expression on Octavia's face, he knew his attempt was an absolute failure.

"Ok, then," Blaise smirked. "I'll take him – but on one condition."

"What's that?" Octavia smiled, pleased with her small victory.

"When I get home, you best not be wearing any knickers," Blaise grinned, approaching her like a predator. "They just get in the way. Better yet, don't wear any clothes at all."

"You're crazy," Octavia scoffed, but allowed him to come up behind her, his arms snaking around her waist, his face burying into the nook of her neck. "We just did it … _twice_. In bed and the shower."

"Don't blame me," Blaise grinned against the smooth skin of her neck. "Blame yourself – You're the one who gets me all hot and bothered, _baby_."

"Shut up," Octavia giggled, squealing as he nipped at her skin playfully.

"It's my birthday," Blaise purred teasingly.

"If that's what happens on your birthday, you'd have a birthday 354 days in a year," Octavia giggled as his hands slipped beneath the hem of her now bunched up dress.

"356," Blaise corrected, kissing a trail over her shoulder.

"Dad, I'm ready!" Joshua impatiently shouted from the front door.

"Fuck," Blaise muttered as Octavia snickered. "He's such a little cock-block."

"Blaise!" Octavia gasped, shimmying away from him as he reluctantly let her go. "Don't say that – I don't want him picking up anymore bad words."

"Right," Blaise rolled his eyes. "As if you're not the reason he swears all the time."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Octavia sniffed innocently before grabbing the plates and prancing over to the sink.

Blaise tilted his head as he watched her go, making no attempt to hide his ogling. After a lingering stare of appreciation, Blaise sighed as he pushed himself from the table and grabbed the car keys from the kitchen counter. Octavia set to doing the dishes as he strode toward the door. It wasn't until he opened the kitchen door and hovered in the hallway that he said his goodbyes in a very Blaise-like way.

"Remember what I said about those clothes!" Blaise called out, evidently ensuring that his son could hear him. "I want them all off by the time I get home, Tavs."

"Dad!" Josh snapped from the corridor as Octavia threw a tea-towel at her grinning husband. "Shut up!"

"No one appreciates me around here," Blaise laughed, dodging a damp cloth as he dipped out of the kitchen.

Octavia eyed the door he disappeared through for a moment, her expression of outrage morphing into a tranquil look and a soft smile. She stayed like that for a moment before she hummed happily and returned to doing a poor job of the dirty dishes – Blaise would have to rewash them, as he always did.

She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt a hard, muscular body pressed against her back, a face nuzzling into the crook of her neck, and toned arms snaking around her waist. Frozen in place from fear and shock, Octavia gaped at the wall as thoughts of the worst came springing into her dazed mind. But all fears quickly dispersed the moment the man behind her spoke.

"I forgot to say goodbye," Blaise whispered softly, kissing her skin tenderly.

Octavia relaxed noticeably, melting into the arms of her best-friend, lover, and husband. His arms around her suddenly felt safe and secure, for that is exactly what Blaise was, but sprinkled with a little arrogance, of course.

Still, Octavia couldn't deny the feelings she had for her husband. She couldn't deny that she loved him in so many ways – the right ways. Ways that she never thought possible with anyone other than Draco. But Draco was a mere memory now… a nightmare, more precisely. And Blaise was her dream. A dream she never wished to wake up from.

"I love you," Octavia breathed as he nibbled on her earlobe teasingly.

Abruptly, Blaise ceased his ministrations, stilling against her as her words sank in. His heart swelled, his stomach flipped, and his lips twisted into the cockiest grin he could muster. Like each time she said those brilliant, but rare words.

"You're not so bad yourself," Blaise teased, his hands wandering up to her breasts.

"Dad!" Joshua shouted. "Stop kissing mum! I'm going to be late for school!"

"Do you think we should tell him he was an accident?" Blaise groaned, earning a sharp elbow to the gut from his wife. "Ouch – don't damage the merchandise, Tavs."

"Get out," Octavia scoffed, shooing him away with a dish scrubber.

Blaise held his hands up in defeat, a wide grin on his tanned, handsome face, his pearly white teeth almost glowing in the relatively light kitchen. But his eyes were what captured Octavia's attention – for they were always so dark, but full of light and life.

"I love you too," Blaise winked before disappearing through the door.


End file.
